


Ad'e Nor'ba'slanar (Forsaken Sons)

by MissTeaVee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A mix of using their serial numbers and names. Some Alphas do take names, Coming of Age, Gen, Jango's sister is alive and well because I hate the fridged females trope, Other, but as this is supposed to be their early years, description of needles and broken needles in a traumatic situation, most consider their numbers to be their “True” names at this point, needle thing is in a separate chapter that can be skipped, very brief suggestion of clonecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTeaVee/pseuds/MissTeaVee
Summary: Snippits of how the Alpha-class clones were trained and raised by Jango. Various POV. Some focus on OCs. Graphic description of a failed medical procedure in chapter 3.Oddly enough it came out to 66 pages of writing total.





	1. Decanting

Jango watched with open curiosity as the tubes were opened and newborn human babies- his clones, were pulled out. They were just a little bigger than a natural born child already, the genetic manipulation and growth hormones making themselves known. The first baby whined in displeasure as he was removed from the tank and inspected. These weren’t the very first batch; A couple other test classes had been born- decanted while he was out recruiting into the Cuy’val Dar. But this was the batch that he would train.

The first of the Alpha-class clones screeched in protest when a blood sample was taken from ita foot. This set the second baby, fresh out of the vat off, and it struggled and flailed and howled, little face screwed up in displeasure. Despite himself, Jango chuckled. He’d said that he didn’t want to hold them; they weren’t _his_. Still, looking at the little things, He found himself wanting to…

He gave himself a small shake. His pure clone, the unaltered one that would be his would be born soon enough. That baby was developing at natural rate, started with the Null test class. He could wait for the one he would keep. He was looking forward to it, to have a child to raise into a fine heir. He’d already picked out the name.

_Boba._

Once they were checked over, the Alpha-class babies were picked up by Lowborn Kaminoans and spoken to in quiet voices. Jango had enquired as to how his clones would be raised up from infanthood, considering their needs. Humans needed a certain level of touch and interaction from adults to survive, just as much as food and water. Droids and low casters for them, it would be, and as they aged, the older clones could help care for and raise the smaller ones. It seemed sensible, if clinical.The eighteenth child let out quite the howl when he was given the first of his many inoculations, squirming in displeasure against the Kaminoan holding him. Jango chuckled as the lower caste Kaminoan holding that baby and one more attempted to wrangle the angry little thing without dropping the other. He saw the grip slipping and stepped forward, catching the wiggling one.

“Thank you, Jango,” Said the lower caste Kaminoan politely as Jango quickly placed the baby in a small tub that had been set up for it, lest he want to keep holding it. “Alpha-17 is already fierce. It is an excellent sign.”

He snorted softly at that, then blinked. “Seventeen? Wasn’t this the eighteenth?”

“Yes, we are numbering the Alpha-class from Zero-Zero up to Ninety-Nine,” Explained the Kaminoan. “Keeping the serial numbers the same length for each batch allows for easier bookkeeping.”

“I see,” Said Jango, stepping back. In its bucket, Alpha-17 flailed his tiny limbs and complained in the only way a baby could. The Kaminoan placed Alpha-18 in the next bucket, and went to load them alongside the other babies. Jango snorted, turning his attention to down the line, where the last dozen were still being removed from their decantation tubes. Even accounting for their accelerated growth, he wouldn’t have a lot to do with these infants for a few years , and he intended to use that time to bond with Boba. The other Cuy’val dar were putting their affairs in order before contacting him on the mission, and the promise of credits would keep their lips shut until they’d reached Kamino. Deep in his bones, he felt an ache, almost… excitement for the days to come.

\---

 

Boba was _perfect_. Jango held the newborn version of himself in one arm, smiling tenderly down at him and offering him the bottle of formula colostrum that had been specifically engineered to provide Boba with all the biological elements that a natural born child would’ve received during the birthing process; Antibodies, various types of beneficial bacteria,nutrients and more. It was the exact same formula that had been fed to the _other_ clones of Jango, now all sequestered away in various nurseries. Jango would feed this particular formula to his son for a week before switching to a mothers-milks substitute.

Taun We had offered to provide Jango with a droid to do Boba’s feedings instead, but he’d turned her down. “No, maybe when he gets a bit older, but I don’t want him bonding to a machine instead of family,” He’d replied. Already, the two-week old Alpha-class infants were showing signs of being attached to their droid caretakers, reacting to the metallic voices by cooing softly. The last time he’d toured a nursery, Jango had been disconcerted by how the little things seemed fascinated by his face; little Alpha-13 had stared intently at him even while being fed by his… _it’s_ mother substitute. Whatever the case, Jango wanted his son to bond with people, with himself, and with Arla.

Speaking of his sister, Jango turned to show her the baby. Arla shook her head, suppressing a smile. “Yes Jango, he is a tiny little baby. This is still all madness though.”  
  
Jango shrugged, mindful not to upset the freshly decanted baby in his arms. “It’s perfect Arla. I know I talked about adopting someone who could live up to Jaster’s Legacy but this was impossible to pass up. And look at him… He’ll grow into a greater mando that you or I ever had the chance to.”

Arla snorted, watching as Jango carefully burped the newborn, before accepting him carefully into her arms. “Hello,” she cooed, “I’m your auntie. It’s nice to meet you, Boba.” Boba’s little hands flailed, but he settled as he was pressed close to his aunt’s chest.

\----

 

Jango knew that his clones’ growth was extremely accelerated, but it was still a shock, six months into the program to see little boys learning to walk. Seeing Nala Se, he walked up to her, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Are these the Alpha-class?” He asked. The Kaminoan turned her gaze to him.

“No, Jango, these are the Null test class,” She said, tapping on her holopad, causing a droid to scoop up one of the children and bring it to them. Jango saw the infant’s serial number on the front of it’s shirt and made a small ‘Ahh.’ noise. “The Alpha class, while accelerated further than the CT class, is still not at the developmental milestone of walking yet, we did not accelerate their growth as much as we did with this batch. They are all vocalising and crawling very well, however. We have not needed to cull a single unit from that batch, unlike this one.”

“I… see.” Jango looked at the wriggling ~~child~~ cadet in the droid’s grasp, the little one gripping at the droid like it was ~~his~~ its mother. The toddler was looking at him with solemn brown eyes. “... Why did you need to cull some from this batch?”

“Several had unacceptable delays in development. As is, all are showing a severely delayed proficiency of speech for their equivalent age,” Nala Se commented. “However their other parameters are very good, and they respond to commands in such a way that indicates they understand.”

Jango looked at the ~~child~~ cadet, whose gaze had shifted to the Kaminoan. The little one seemed uneasy, eyes wide. “How old are they supposed to be… eeh, equivalent to human?”

“Two years of age,” Said Nala Se.

“Well, maybe it’s just that they don’t need to communicate verbally. Some children don’t speak until they can form full sentences,” Jango said. “And it has only been six months, maybe they’re not learning enough words.”

“Perhaps,” Nala Se mused, looking at the cadet thoughtfully. The little Null leaned back from her gaze, eyes flicking to Jango. For a moment, Jango wondered if he was being asked for help. He cleared his throat and turned away as Nala Se spoke. “I will do some research on the matter.”

\-----

 

“Sir… can I ask you something?”

Jango looked down at the ~~soulless~~ miniature version of himself. One and a half, barely walking, and already able to disassemble a rifle for cleaning. He glanced at the number stitched onto the cadet’s shirt.

“You may, Alpha 88.”

“Is something wrong with Boba?” It…. he…it… _He_. Jango couldn’t deny that anymore no matter how hard he tried to.

Jango blinked, looking over to where Boba was rolling on a blanket and babbling. To his dismay, two of the Alphas had broken off from their practice to examine to baby, though they were both mindful to stay off the blanket. Boba was attempting to scootch towards one of them, who seemed worried. “No, he’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“Trainer Vau said that he is the same age as us sir, but he looks freshly de.. Decanth-ed.” The clone was the biological equivalent of a particularly sharp four year old, but somehow, Jango sometimes thought they were older. They were certainly the biggest and burliest human four year olds he’d ever met. But they were still just… boys.

He hated that.

“Boba isn’t like you. He is growing at a normal rate,” Jango said lightly. “He’s cloned, like you. But he’s my son, and you’re all Alphas. Just like the Nulls are growing even faster than you, and the CTs are slower, but Boba’s much slower than any of you.”

“Oh. Okay sir,” Said Alpha 88, nodding seriously. “Thank you.”

Jango watched closely as the supercommando to be walked over to Boba’s blanket, ensuring none would accidentally hurt his son. But All 88 did was sit just off the blanket and rest his hands on his knees, watching the baby closely. It occurred to the bounty hunter that these little warriors in training had no concept of just how important the differences between themselves and Boba were. He hated that too, but pushed those thoughts away. They were unproductive. There was nothing to be guilty about.

He noticed one of the cadet’s watching him and hummed. “Yes, Alpha 20?”

“Boba’s a clone too, but smaller you said, and he’s your son. Are we your sons too, sir?”

“No, definitely not,” Said Jango more sharply than intended. The cadet’s eyes went wide at that, and he flinched away.

“Why?”

“Because… Because,” Jango paused. _Fierfek_. “Because I say so and the Kaminoans say so. He ages normally, not super fast like you. He’s different than all of you. He’ll never grow as big as you or powerful.”

The cadet blinked, looking at Jango, then over at Boba. “Boba’s special.”

“Yes.”

Alpha-20 nodded solemnly. “Can we still call you buir?”

“No. All I am is your Projen. You have no father."

\---

 

“It’s just that they’re being grown too fast!” Skirata said passionately, looking almost frustrated to tears. Jango would have more sympathy for the man if he hadn’t seen him backhand “Ordo” for acting out of turn just this morning. Boba looked up, giving Kal a disapproving look for interrupting his starships game.

“Kal…”

“No don’t ‘Kal’, me, Fett. They’re four years old, and they’ve already gone through puberty, they’re learning to shave. No good can come from it. Even the ones you are training are starting to go half feral, and the regular clones that are only double accelerated compared to human baseline arn’t showing anywhere near as many issues. Most of them hit the usual milestones when it’d be expected of them. Ours are just more accelerated than the human brain can mature and learn. That’s it. Kids need lessons reinforced many times, and they’re aging so fast that there’s no time to make the lessons stick before they hit the next developmental stage!”

Jango sighed, considering that. He looked down at Boba, thinking about what to say.

“I do hate having to agree with Skirata,” Waylon said in his dry voice. “But He’s right. They’re not four year olds in Sixteen year old bodies, but they’re not Sixteen year olds either. Yours arn’t quite Twelve in the head. And they’re all big and powerful, and dangerous. If the Kaminoans want their test commandos to be functional, we need more time for our schooling to sink in.”

Jango heaved a sigh. “I’ll see what the Kaminoans can do about it.”

\---

 

Hearing the door to his quarters open, Jango rolled over, grabbing his blaster and landed silently on the floor, waiting to see if it was a threat. He heard his name whispered urgently by a hoarse voice. He didn’t answer.

“Jango… Sir Please…. They took Ninety-Nine,” Insisted the voice. Jango straightened up, realising it was one of his Alpha clones.

“What?” He asked, moving towards the lights, brightening them. Early morning, he noticed, earlier than even his clones got up, generally. He looked at the young clone, 49, of course. He had access to Jango’s room since he sometimes helped take care of Boba when Jango had to leave. “Who took Ninety-Nine?”

“The Kaminoans sir,” 49 rubbed the back of his neck with a wince. “They came and had a droid take him away, said he was defective. We tried to argue that you hadn’t approved of it and they disciplined us.”

A flash of anger rushed through Jango at that. He had no control over the life or death of most of his clones, but the Alphas were his total jurisdiction, supposedly. True, 99 had been falling behind of late, but not by that much, and he didn’t deserve what the Kaminoans would…

Jango hurriedly went to grab his clothing. “Where did they take him?”

“I… I don’t know sir… 17 and 77 went to try and follow, they sent me to get you.”

“Right. Stay here. Keep an eye on Boba if he wakes up.”

“Yessir,” 49 looked at him, gangly, young and intense, and so damn trusting. Jango met the boy’s eyes briefly, then sighed, hurrying out the door.

It didn’t take him too long to track down the other Alphas, and he followed 77’s directions straight into a laboratory. 99 was in the middle of pulling off his clothes and Jango paused briefly, taken aback but…. Well, they were all used to being poked and prodded and examined, weren’t they. The boy didn’t have the usual expression; bored or just.. Not mentally present. He was… tense, and when he saw Jango his eyes widened almost comically, giving him a frightened, hopeful look.

“Ah. Jango,” Said one of the Kaminoans. “We were not expecting you here.”

“Well, I heard rumor that you were doing something to one of the clones under my jurisdiction without my permission,” He said cooly, looking at 99. “Put your uniform back on.”

The lad was a lot faster pulling on his leggings than he had been to push them off, a smile of thanks flashing across his features for just a moment. It accentuated the fact that the left side of his face drooped, unresponsive. The Kaminoan scientist hummed in disapproval, looking to Jango.

“While we were content to allow his physical deformity on your suggestion, Jango,” Said the scientist. “Alpha 99 has fallen significantly behind the other Alpha class clones in all categories. He is unable to maintain the same running or jogging speeds, his reflex time has not changed in the past six months, and he appears to be developing mobility issues. This is unacceptable. Nala Se has ordered that he be examined. If we can rectify the cause now, it is possible he could be reconditioned.”

Jango hummed lowly, watching as 99 edged slowly closer to him. He could see it, the way the boy moved, almost limping. A few months ago he’d been as hale and hearty as all the others. It wasn’t… wholly unexpected that he’d be taken in for screening, he supposed. They Alphas had been put under some tests of different steroid and growth hormones, but something had reacted… wrong with the youngest Alpha. But if the boy’s condition was really worsening beyond slackness of the face…

“What kind of reconditioning are you proposing?” He asked slowly. 99 froze, and Jango felt guilt, but quashed it down. If something could improve 99’s health, it was better for all of them.

“At this time, I do not yet know. His mental faculties are good, however. As long as this physical issue is not severe, he is a prime candidate for gene therapy and possible implant tests,” Said the Scientist, looking at her datapad. “We will need to perform some scans and a biopsy to find out.”

Jango met the boy’s gaze, and 99 looked at him pleadingly. There had always been something a bit different about him. While all of them were mature for their size, most of the Alphas seemed to have a certain… aloofness, and inability to recognize small social cues indicating mood in each other. Though certainly, they were all very sensitive to any indication of a cranky mood in Jango or the other Cuy’val Dar. (He didn’t think about what that meant.) But 99 was always an Empathetic young man. Sensitive and almost gentle outside the combat sims. And too, did 99 most fear the Kaminoans. None of the Alphas (And likely none of the Nulls either) particularly liked their long-necked creators, but 99 had always displayed such a wariness that made Jango wonder.

“Well,” He said slowly, bringing himself back to present. “May that as it be. I should still be informed. This feels like you were sneaking around behind my back. I dislike that.”

“Apologies, Jango. As this is simply a testing phase before we make any decisions, we did not think it concerned you.”

“Hmm,” Jango looked at the lad, thinking, concerned. 99 edged closer yet again, seeking… Jango didn’t want to think about that.

“If you have no objections, we must proceed. The sooner we can discover the issue with Alpha-99, the sooner we can resolve it.”

“If that’s the case, then I’ll stay and keep an eye on what you’re doing,” Jango said finally. He felt that he should do more but… even if he had some control over what happened to the Alphas, they weren’t his. They were property of the Republic. His words seemed to comfort the lad anyway though. 99 let out a long sigh, and stepped back towards the medical bunk.

\----

 

“Certainly not,” Jango said, striding forward and unclipping the restraints holding 99 to the table.

“Ah, but Jango-” Started the Kaminoan.

“You haven’t had time to look over your results and you’re already planning to destroy him?” Jango growled. “That’s unacceptable.”

Blearily, the cadet rolled off the table and fumbled for his clothes, goosebumps spreading over his back. Jango instinctively took a sidestep to shield the child from the Kaminoans’ view, before catching himself. 99 shot him a look of pure gratitude for it though, and he felt bile rise in his throat that this was something 99 should feel thankful for.

“The condition is unmanageable, Jango. Continuing to pour resources into this unit is illogical and wasteful,” Said Nala Se reasonably, glancing between the results and Jango. Jango slowly clenched his fist in hand. “It is tragic, I agree, you have trained the Alpha class very well so far, and I know you are proud of the results. But there is nothing to be done.”

“I disagree,” Jango said. He couldn’t just… it was foolish to think that he could stop this. 99 had a degenerative condition caused by… the kaminoans didn’t know what. Puberty had triggered the onset and the boy was only going to get worse. The care he’d need… the Kaminoans wouldn’t waste the resources on a mere product. But he had trained the boy… he felt responsible. “Perhaps he can’t be a soldier, but he can still be useful.”

“Jango, I understand you are attached to the Alpha class but in the end-”

“Overseer, with all due respect, if you don’t know what caused 99 to degenerate like that, you should keep him for study to see if you can use it to spot symptoms in other clones sooner,” He interrupted. Then he wondered if it’d be kinder to just let them euthanize the boy. 99, still not quite lucid due to the sedation, stumbled as he tried to pull on his shoes. Jango didn’t help him. “It’s nothing in my own family history, and certainly nothing you found when you screened me as the Progenitor of the clone army.”

“That is true,” Said Nala Se. “However, it is still something of a waste of resources to preserve him.”

“Perhaps…” Said Jango, looking at 99. He was a sweet creature. Gentle and loving in his own way. He had become more taciturn, like all his batchers, but there was a certain gentleness to him that none of the other had, even those who Jango sometimes entrusted Boba to… Boba. He brightened at an idea. 99, none of them were his, and he had no desire for other children and it would be a poor idea to try and claim any of them. But... “But at the same time, he could be useful in other ways. When I go out Bounty hunting, I know Boba is generally left to Taun We, but cleaning up after him is a full time job, and I know the droids don’t do as well as Taun We would like. It wastes her time to clean up after my son. Assign 99 to my household as a carer for Boba. It will allow Taun We more time to her main duties.”

Nala Se considered the question for a long moment, looking over 99 with a sort of professional disdain. He was one of her Products, and a insufficient one at that. It was all too clear that she’d prefer to remove him from existence entirely. Nothing against him personally of course, but he wasn’t a _person_ to have anything against.


	2. Kamino's Youths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More snippets of Life growing up. Very short allusion to clonecest. 
> 
> Chapter length is more dependant on the whim of the author than anything, it seems.

“H-Hey Nil,” Said 99. They were Six now, Sixteen Equivalent. In the year since Jango had convinced the Kaminoans to spare him, 99’s condition had worsened some. His back had hunched over, and his face continued to droop. At Jango’s constant, gentle prompting, he’d finally given up on even trying to keep up with his batchers. Or even then regular CTs, who were just starting to go through puberty. He hated it.

Alpha-00, Nil as some of their trainers called him, glanced over, but didn’t say anything. 99 hadn’t really expected much response. His batchers would look out for him -had looked out for him. It was why Jango had come to rescue him, after all- but they didn’t like to interact with him much. He was pretty sure they worried that whatever was wrong with him was contagious. He didn’t think so, but… Well.

He heaved a small sigh as Nil walked past him, and headed for Jango’s room to see if he was needed. If he wasn’t useful, he was dead, after all.

 

Jango glanced up just long enough to confirm that it was just 99 entering the room before returning his attention to Boba. He made the Jedi shuttle in his hands turn and flee before Boba’s mighty warship, chuckling as the boy mimicked explosions with his mouth. 99 quietly headed for the kitchen, and it didn’t take long for Jango to hear pots moving around. He hummed, leaving Boba once the Jedi ship was vanquished to check on 99.

“You don’t need to cook anything,” He said to spare the young man’s feeling about reminding him that his cooking was just awful. “That is what the droid’s for.”

“I’m just.. Cleaning. I know,” Said 99 quietly. Jango heaved a sigh and looked him over. It seemed every time he got a glimpse of his defective clone, 99 was skinnier. He wasn’t sure if it was a side effect of his deformity; metabolism going haywire, or if 99 wasn’t eating right; was he not being fed enough? The Kaminoans had agreed to continue to give him the requisite calories, but maybe he needed more?

Jango had tried to feed him more, but 99 was ‘never hungry’ when it was offered. He was a young man now, though his stroke-addled face made him look so much older, especially in combination with his ever-hunching back. But still, 99 gamely did his best to keep up whenever possible. The others had at some point, stopped trying to help him do so, Jango had noticed. He felt bad for the young man, but there was little he could do about it.

“Alright, thank you,” He said. No need to bring up the fact that the rooms were spotless or Jango had only thought up the idea of 99 being a ‘personal attendant’ to save him from decommission. 99 needed and wanted to be useful somehow. Jango let out a long sigh, resolving to send 99 back to his quarters with a meal this time.

 

“Uhm... 17. Hey.”

Alpha-17 nearly jumped out of his training clothes to hear a vod so close unexpectedly. He spun around to glare at 99, who cringed slightly, baring his teeth in a placating sort of grin.

“Hey… uh… Jango gave me this but… I don’t want it. Maybe you do?” 99 asked quietly, offering a container of some sort. It smelled amazing. 17 cocked his head curiously, looking 99 over with a judgemental sort of gaze, taking in how skinny his batcher looked, though considering everything else about him, it was probably just a trick of the light.

“Oh definitely,” 17 said once he’d gotten a look at the meal that Jango had given 99. It looked and smelled amazing and if 99 didn’t want it, 17 sure as hell did. Besides, 99 didn’t really need it anyway. He was living the cushy life with Jango. He accepted the package and would have walked away except he heard a stomach growl and it wasn’t his. He paused, looked at 99 a bit more closely, considering him. Well, even if he was hungry, he did say he didn’t want it. “Thanks Vod.”

99 smiled at him brightly, seeming almost… hopeful. About what 17 wasn’t sure, but he inclined his head once to 99 and made to turn to leave. He noticed the slightly crestfallen look on his batcher’s face as he did and paused briefly. “Where are you headed?”

“Oh… uh… sleep. You know,” 99 said, looking away.

“Where do you sleep?” 17 mused. The Alphas had each been given their own rooms in the last month. Small things, their narrow bunks embedded in the wall with storage below, and just enough room to stand in, but it was theirs, and they loved that. But on reflection, 99 probably didn’t have anything like that. The Kaminoans tended to ignore him unless they wanted to run tests on his deficiencies.

“Oh uh… I just… well… Where I want to,” 99 stuttered, looking down, cheeks flushing. “I… should get there.” He turned and hurried away, 17 cocking his head and briefly watching him go before aiming for his room. Catching 18 and 19 still up and chatting in the hallway, he offered to share the food 99 had given him, and they were more than thrilled to split the treat.

“He didn’t want it?” Said 19 in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Ehh, probably just not as good as most other meals Jango cooks,” Opined 17, licking his fingers clean once he was done his share. “Nice he thought to share it though.”

“I don’t think he eats anything at all. You can see his spine through his stomach,” was 18’s opinion. “Maybe not being able to eat is another deformity.”

Both 17 and 19 looked at their batcher curiously at that. 18 snorted. “He was trying to practice wrestling holds with me and his shirt got all tucked up.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” said 19 with a grimace. “You could catch being a mutie.”

“No he can’t, it’s just whatever the Kaminoans tested on  _ him _ messed him up,” 17 rolled his eyes. He pitied their youngest brother as much as any of them, but 99 wasn’t contagious. That was ridiculous. The Kaminoans would have decomissioned him immediately if that were the case. “Don’t be stupid 19.”

“Yeah,” 18 grumbled, folding up the now empty container. “99’s nice, even if he’s broken. Doesn’t deserve you treating him like he’s got the plague.”

“Oh whatever,” 19 snorted. “I got bigger problems than worrying about whether or not Jango’s favorite eats enough.”

“I thought that was Boba,” Muttered 17.

\----

 

The toddler giggled, tripping over his own feet. 99 smiled, catching the young clone and leaning over to gently grasp the hand of another. The Kaminoans were keeping them in batches of five, and one of his new roles was to ensure all his little brothers got the touch and interaction human babies needed to be healthy. He liked this job the best, and the little brothers never cared that he wasn’t as big or fast as his brothers. They didn’t care that his face drooped or his back curved.

They didn’t look at him with a mix of revulsion and pity like his batchers did.

99 cleared his throat and chuckled, separating two of the little ones as they got a little rough on each other, speaking in a soothing voice. He ruffled one’s hair, then stood up, having to check on the next batch. One clung to his leg, giggling. “Nye-Nye!” he squealed. 99 froze.

He crouched back down and gave his vod’ika a hug. “Yes, that’s right, I am Ninety Nine.” He nuzzled noses once with the little cadet before gently dis-tangling himself. “I’ll be back, I promise.

He got a pout at that, but they all knew he never stayed long. He wasn’t allowed to.

In the next room, he found the batch napping in a heap. He smiled, stepping over quietly and running a hand over a back, gently adjusting the youngsters into more comfortable positions, feeling a sort of envy at the sight. He saw his batchers ever day, but none would ever cuddle up to him like that. But then… they wouldn’t do it for each other, either, would they?

He sighed, settling down to just sit with this sleeping batch for the allotted time, feeling a deep sort of peace as he watched them. As Boba aged, 99 was needed less and less to care for him, but the Kaminoans, ever thrifty, had realized that 99 was perfectly capable of continuing to care for little ones. His little brothers were better than Boba in every way. They were small and friendly and warm. They didn’t consider themselves better than him or his batch by sheer virtue of their birth.

They were better than his batchers in many ways too. But he missed the  ~~other~~ Alphas terribly nonetheless. He missed leaning up against 65’s shoulder as 02 and 17 postured and argued. He missed wrestling with 45, 52 laughing at them as they tried to pin each other down. He missed the casual comfort of their bodies cuddled together like the Cadets around him. That though, had gone away as they aged. He knew that they missed that too, missed each other even when they were face to face interacting. Something had changed from when they were small, still was changing, and no one had the words for it.

He could see it, not only in the aside glances that they all would give when looking towards their siblings, but feel it somehow, in his chest, or was it hearing it in his head? He could feel the loneliness and want echoing, interspaced with a need to remain aloof, unaffected, invulnerable. It had been overshadowed by his own desires for the same, but now, all that was left of him was loneliness and regret. He had no strength with which to be invulnerable. How he envied them. How he wished to reach out for their attention.

_ Please look at me and smile without it being mocking or pity. Let me grasp your elbow, let me lay against you again. Vod’e, I miss you. _

He knew better than to say any of it. Even though he could feel their hearts crying out the same, they would refuse his plea or offer out of pride and a certain jealousy of their own image. They had no control over their lives but for how they could show themselves.

He sighed, rubbing at his ever-stiffening neck. One cadet roused just enough to crawl into his lap, and he smiled down at the little one fondly. This was something he wished his batchers could share in. He thought they’d enjoy it.

\-----

 

“But I want to shoot it,” muttered the petulant trooper. Jango, back turned to Alpha 89, folded his hands in front of his face and took a deep breath. Why had he decided to take the lot of them to a forest moon again? Survival training be damned.

“Boy, if you shot that squirrel with the blaster you have, there would be nothing left to eat,” Mandalorians had no gods to pray to, but Jango was seriously considering making a few up to beg that this lot of teenagers and his six-and-a-half year old son would just behave. But no, off went Alphas 19 thru 35, vanishing into the trees like a ridiculously excited team of ghosts. He’d be proud of them if he wasn’t trying to hand out their instruction packets. Thank goodness the most of his clones were standing around in an orderly fashion, though he suspected that as they came to realize that the Kaminoans had absolutely no oversight here, they’d start running wild too.

Jango folded his arms behind his back and turned, just in time to see Boba dart after the vanishing Alphas. He opened his mouth to shout for him, but mercifully, Alpha-36 (Hexes… the Boy was calling himself Hexes now) ran after him and gathered Boba up in his arms, returning the squirming youngster to his father. Jango took his son, frowning at him sternly. “Boba, you don’t run off without permission.”

“But they did!” Boba complained, mouth pinched in a scowl.

“They did, and they’ll get in trouble for it to,” Jango assured his boy, Boba looking worried. Not that it mattered; all the Alphas had already figured that Jango, while no soft touch, would never give them a punishment they couldn’t handle. Add in the fact that they were mentally and physically a bunch of sixteen or so year old boys, and it was just a disaster trying to corral the young jackasses. Speaking of… Jango eyed the remaining Alphas, catching 17’s eye. That one tended to keep all his fellows in line, but right now, the slight show of teeth was nothing but smug. “Seventeen if you’re going to give me that look, you can answer for your batchers!”

“So very sorry, sir, I don’t control them,” 17’s grin dialed up further. 

“Like hell you don’t,” Jango rolled his eyes, passing Boba off to 49, who, no matter how much he’d complain, would keep an eye on Boba. 17’s stance shifted, and a murmur of interest went up through the troupe of clones. The Alpha class were all taller than their progenitor at this point, and while they weighed somewhat less than him, their bodies were well developed, powerful, and Jango was well aware most assumed they’d be better than him in a fight by now. The Kaminoans spoke uneasily of the arrogance of the Alpha-class, muttering words like  _ reconditioning  _ to Jango, telling him it might be best to start fresh with them. Jango disagreed. They were teenagers, testing their limits, seeing what they could get away with. It was a natural stage in development, especially considered the triple time accelerated aging until they were four, and it was well and dandy that they wanted to stretch their wings, being psychologically and physically at an age where they’d be considered Adult in some parts of the galaxy.

So stated, the fact that 17 had cheerfully allowed, or possibly ordered his batch to go play hooky in the woods was rather frustrating. The boy had shown a natural penchant for leadership, and as he matured more and more of his fellow Alpha class would defer to him. The young man was learning to like being obeyed, and it wasn’t the first time he’d challenged Jango or someone else’s authority. The  _ Cuy'val Dar _ , as a whole found it amusing, but it would cause problems should the lad ever try to challenge the Kaminoans. Jango could not save the clones that rebelled against the longnecks. They knew that and yet pushed at their bonds, young pups growing into feral mutts, stronger and more cunning than anything tame and easy to command. But the Kaminoans wanted attack dogs that bit only on command, they didn’t understand; you couldn’t have have the cunning and wit and independence needed to be a commando if you needed to be told when you were allowed to go to sleep.

Jango took a combat stance, and Alpha-17’s grin turned mean. The boy lunged, intent on getting his progen in a grappling hold, but Jango took a step back to dodge. Instead of attacking back, the old bounty hunter retreated again and again with each lunge, hearing the boys muttering in confusion at how the sight. 17 stumbled once, over a rock, and Jaango’s expression didn’t change. Another step back had him over a twisted tree root, and when 17 lunged, he didn’t notice said root, and tripped. Jango immediately grasped the boy’s arm, twisting it behind his back, barring an arm over 17’s neck and holding him tight. 17 swore viruntly, struggling with all his might, but Jango’s hold was unescapable, and he twisted the young clone’s wrist until the boy let out a groan of pain, struggles ceasing.

“Are you done?” Jango asked, tone disapproving. 17 let out a frustrated growl. “I asked, are you done, Seventeen?”

Another growl, Seventeen’s head dropping just a little. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Jango released the boy, 17 stumbling but not falling over, rubbing his wrist and eyeing Jango resentfully. “Recall your runaways, _ Commander _ , their actions reflect on you.”

“Sir,” 17 turned towards the woods, activating the commset on his wrist, angrily demanding his vod’e return to the group. Jango glanced around at the others, who looked quite astonished to realize their Progen was still fully capable of keeping them in line. He sighed, resisting the urge to shake his head as he turned to 49 to reclaim Boba.

\---

 

“I will turn the hose on you!” Jango’s voice echoed loudly, irritated. Alpha-88 and Alpha-26 scattered away from each other in surprise, then glanced at Jango, giving him their best innocent faces. Jango snorted at them in disgust. “You know full well you should not be doing that outside your quarters.”

“Our bunks can barely fit one of us, nevermind two,” Sulked 88, doing up his belt.

“Well at the very least stop doing it when you’re supposed to be sparring,” He scolded in irritation. They were over-fueled testosterone laden teens with no real outlet but for carefully controlled violence. He couldn’t outright blame them for taking curiosity with thier bodies but it was profoundly discomfiting for him to encounter.

“But Jango,” Grinned 26 in the way any of them only did when they were trying to irritate their progenitor. “Sparring is more fun this way.”

Jango heaved a long sigh, refusing to rub his forehead. “Twenty-Six… go for a damned swim.”

It was a decent day outside, not stormy, and a lap or two in the cold ocean water would burn off some extra energy in his clones in a way that didn’t make Jango question his life choices. 26 and 88 glanced at each other, both smirking, and headed for the door. Jango watched them go, and only once the door was shut, did he press his knuckles to his forehead.

\---

 

Alpha-49 let out a longsuffering sort of sigh as he stepped into the medical ward. Two Kaminoans today, one of them new. Small, for a Kaminoan. Black eyes though. Young? Interesting. He took it all in without any shift of expression. More tests, no doubt. He was expected to silently strip to his underwear and sit on the examination table without being instructed, which was exactly why he leaned his hip up against it instead and looked towards the two Kaminoans with his head slightly cocked. 

“Hmm, is this your student, Vara Kel? Heard you talking about her before.”

The student seemed rather affronted, if he was reading the body language right, but Doctor Kel remained serene. “Indeed. Remove your clothing and place yourself on the exam table as you are supposed to.”

A full sentence! Doctor Kel was in a good mood today. 49 considered tossing his clothes at the two Kaminoans, the older not-quite-ignoring him in case he decided to be unpredictable, the younger watching with sharp interest, eager to leave a good impression on her instructor, clearly. He decided to save his troublesome behaviour until it’d be properly frustrating, and stripped down. He sat on the bunk, tapping his fingers on the cool metal, already done with it all. Would it be scans only, or a biopsy day? Ugh.

 

Vara Kel wasn’t looking directly at the clone, but she was paying close attention to what he was doing. She disliked working on the Alpha class clones; the were rude, disobedient, and prone to certain irrational behaviors. They showed fantastic development and military tactics, and Jango had recently indicated intention to have them sent on trial missions off planet in small teams. But she was rather relieved that most clones had been altered to remove that independence, that individuality. She shuddered to think of how frustrating the other commando batches must have been if the Alphas were the only one in whole who’d been considered manageable enough to be preserved without severe limits.

Still, Alpha-49 was an excellent subject for Kesi Fut to do a practice examination on. He was boisterous, but unlikely to become properly aggressive like some of his batch. Irritating, certainly, but not a threat to an inexperienced overseer. Plus, she had not informed her student that this was an Alpha class clone, wanting her student to point out behavioral flaws that would be unexpected in CT units. If Kesi was exceptional, perhaps she’d even notice the enhanced musculature and skeletal structure of the Alpha class, in which case the young researcher would likely find herself advanced through training, something that would reflect greatly upon Vara herself. Certainly it was a day of possibilities.

For her part, Kesi Fut wondered why her dignified teacher would allow one of the products to speak so disrespectfully. Doctor Kel would have reprimanded her strongly for such irreverence, and rightly so! This attitude out of one of the products… it was unthinkable. Perhaps that was the point? Maybe this lesson was actually a test of whether or not Kesi was capable of making the necessary decisions of an Overseer. Was this a clone meant for the cull, who she was to be given free reign over? That was an exciting prospect. Was she truly to do all the scans to decide if the clone was worth the effort of mending for further training? Such faith in her abilities if that was the case! She wouldn’t let Doctor Kel down!

 

The procedures went quite well, Vara Kel thought to herself. Alpha-49 had been verbally temperamental with the procedures that she had guided Kesi Fut through, but not more than her student could handle. Kesi had summoned a droid at one point to restrain the clone to the medical bunk, which Vara considered to be a little much, but she was also working with experience regarding this particular unit, who was generally, to quote Jango “More bark than bite.” Alpha-49 complained verbally for the rest of the procedures, expression displeased, but showing no undue symptoms of distress beyond that.

Intern Fut had suggested additional procedures cautiously, and brightened when Vara nodded approval. Vara could certainly see that Kesi recognized the clone’s behavior as problematic, but also that he was an exemplary physical specimen, perfect in every way, finer than the median expectation for clones. She’d been given a modified version of the clone’s score’s to look over, and Vara Kel was very interested to see what conclusions her student drew when all was said and done. It seemed unlikely that Fut would realize that this was an Alpha-class, since she had not had the exposure to recognize certain markers associated with the test classes. Still, she had done exemplary work.

Fut looked up from her reading and tapped her fingers along a console thoughtfully. “Well… this unit’s scores are exemplary, and it is physically a flawless specimen. But behavior wise it’s just unacceptable. A full psychological reconditioning and flash program to reset the mental state would be most effective, I believe. Considering the subject’s maturity, a partial reconditioning would likely not keep. We’d need to utilize the Partina method, for best results… I believe.”

“Marvellously judged,” Said Doctor Kel, absolutely delighted. The young intern seemed just as pleased with the praise. “I was not expecting you to correctly interpret the data so far as to choose the best method of reconditioning. Excellent.”

“Thank you, I owe it to your teaching,” Said Fut politely, inclining her head, glancing up as Alpha-49 loudly and irritably asked if he could get off the table yet. “So, what would the next step be?”

“Ah, well, as your subject is already restrained, all you would need to do is authorize here, and enter the correct command code. The droids handle the rest,” Doctor Kel explained.

“No sedation?” Asked Kesi Fut curiously.

“No, the stimulation of nerves and the pain response therin is essential to complete reconditioning in this particular method, it appears to aid the brain in forgetting useless information,” Vara Kel said, smiling. She was about to add that this was all hypothetical, of course, as the Alpha clone was well within acceptable parameters as a test batch under Jango’s observation, but  was distracted by her comm beeping and excused herself. The conversation could continue as soon as she was done speaking with Overseer Se.

Certainly her student wouldn’t be as so foolish and eager to prove herself to start the reconditioning process without Doctor Kel’s express instructions. The thought didn’t even cross Vara Kel’s mind.

-

 

“Oh… Fordo. Hey…”

Alpha-77 turned and cocked his head, seeing 99 (No one called him Alpha-99 anymore, not even the Kaminoans, he’d noticed) standing a little to the side. “99… you snuck up again.”

Just an observation. He was good at that, despite the limp. He was also very good about knowing what you were thinking. Creepy, in a way, but he meant well with it. Fordo wondered about it. They said Jedi could read minds; Jango had taught the Alphas to shield against such things, but still, 99 always seemed to understand you a little too well.

“S-sorry. What’s up?”

“Ehhh,” 77… Fordo as he was still getting used to be called, gave a bit of a shrug. “Kaminoans made me and 49 come in for some tests. He went in first. My turn in a few.”

“That sucks,” Said 99 sympathetically. Fordo shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ manner. “Do you… mind if I hang out a bit?”

“Eh, whatever… don’t you have something better t’do though?” Fordo asked, not quite comfortable with 99 being there. 99 always seemed a little sad, but he was looking at the door.

“I dunno…. I think something’s wrong.”

“Yeah? What?” Fordo shifted his weight, readying for action. 99 was weak, strange, and rather pitiable, but he knew things, even when he couldn’t explain how. They all knew that implicitly, same as they all knew that no one, not even Jango should ever learn about that. It was best not talked about.

“Something…” 99 looked at the door. “49’s not… I’m not sure. Something’s just not right in there.”

“Hmm…” Fordo strode towards the door and hit the open switch. It buzzed in negative, the room apparently sealed. “Strange.”

99’s eyes widened, and he looked towards the door, his body going tense. “We need to get in there.”

“What is it?”

“He needs help!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will contain needles and broken needles. it can be skipped, there will be a brief summary of Chapter 3 in chapter 4.


	3. Reset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have to admit it was going to end up focusing a bit too heavily on an OC for a while. I didn't intend it, but it happened.
> 
> Needles, broken needles in flesh. If descriptions of this, as well as medical treatment of this injury bothers you, there is a HIGHLY sanitized recap at the start of chapter 4 for you. This is a super short chapter, broken off purely to isolate the medical horror.
> 
> I've made mention before of a reconditioning 'attempt' on my OC Recoil (A-49) Well, here we are.

“Jango! Jango!” 99 nearly fell over in his haste to get to their progenitor, his legs unable to propel him as fast as he needed to go. He stumbled through the doorway, breathing hard. Jango turned from where he was instructing a dozen Alphas on the finer methods of using a stun gun to lethal effect to see his mutated clone grasping the wall for support. He blinked in confusion at the clear distress on the teenager’s face.

“What?”

“They-They,” 99 paused to take a deep breath, then spilled it all out. “They took 49 to reconditioning. Fordo went to stop them!”

Jango straightened, the words not making sense. Reconditioning? 49? What? 49 was their best sniper, and probably one of the least troublesome overall. Then he looked at 99’s panicked expression and it properly struck him. “Which way?”

99 spun on his heel and took off as fast as he could, Jango trotting to keep up. If the other Alphas dropped their gear to follow, well that was okay.

 

He came into a laboratory full of carnage. The door was bent and broken inwards from several impacts, the floor covered in pieces of droid and spattered blood. He looked up to see 49, restrained to a bunk, utterly limp, eyes rolled back in his head, a little blood dripping from his mouth, as if the young man had bitten through his own lip. More worryingly, the blood oozing from the base of his skull and something thin and sharp poking out the side of his neck there, alongside his spine.

He glanced aside to see something almost more shocking; Fordo. He had a Kaminoan by the neck in one hand, the other, a jagged piece of metal that must have come from the very droid that was in pieces around the room. A second Kaminoan, taller, stood to the side, hand reaching for the panic button that would summon security droids.

“Stand down!” Jango said sharply. Fordo jerked, swinging around to look at Jango. He didn’t drop either the Kaminoan or the metal shard.

“Sir! They were Reconditioning 49! He was screaming!”

Jango nodded even as the younger Kaminoan in Fordo’s hold squirmed fearfully. He glanced aside, the older Kaminoan’s- He recognized Doctor Kel now- hand still resting over the panic button. “Put her down, Fordo.”

Fordo hesitated, but did as he was told, stalking over to Jango and tucking his hands at his sides. Now, Jango saw him trembling, looking closer to his chronological Seven instead of Biological Eighteen for a long moment. “He was screaming, I looked in and that droid was hovering over him, needles in his neck, little claws holding him in place… He cried for help…  _ She, _ ” His head jerked towards the smaller Kaminoan, still pressed up against the wall fearfully. “Told me it was my turn next. Didn’t listen when I said you needed to sign off on it… I just…. Wanted them to stop.”

“The unit was defective, Doctor Kel agreed with me!” Said the younger Kaminoan, edging towards her instructor, who had leaned up on a console to take in the situation. “And  _ that _ unit attacked me! It’s dangerous!”

Jango whirled on the Kaminoans. “He’s right though. What the hell do you think you’re playing at, reconditioning one of my commandos? And 49? What the hell did he do to deserve this?”

“It appears to have been a tragic mistake, Jango,” Said Vara Kel smoothly, not looking at her student. Even Jango could see her simmering with anger. “I had intended to use the Alpha clones as examples and practice of procedures with unruly subjects. I did not tell her they were Alpha class, because I wanted to see if she would call out deficiencies in what she thought were CT units. Alpha-49 was not scheduled for Reconditioning, and I certainly did not approve of any of this-”

“How did you let this happen?” Jango interrupted, mostly to prevent Fordo from doing so. “Why did she even have authorization to do this? Nala Se can only recondition any of my Alphas with my express permission.” And he’d never give it, either. If 02’s strange split personality wasn’t good enough for Jango to want to see him erased, then nothing any of his clones could do would be enough. He noticed the Kaminoan student sinking back, almost trying to melt into the wall and felt a vicious sort of satisfaction.

“There were never any administrative blocks in place, we did not think them necessary. I apologize, Jango,” Said Vara Kel. “It is tragic, but I’m afraid that we must now finish the Reconditioning process and-”

“Like hell you do!” Snarled Fordo.

“And likely we will have to recondition Alpha-77 as well,” She went on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “This incident may have a negative impact on him, and he acted in a dangerous manner towards my student.”

“No.”

Vara Kel looked at Jango in surprise. “Pardon me?”

“No,” Jango repeated, furious, keeping himself controlled and remembering to speak the same language as the Kaminoan. “For- Alpha-77 did exactly as I would have wanted in this scenario. He interfered with a situation that he knew I wouldn’t approve of, and he only escalated as far as was needed to contain the situation. He couldn’t get your student to stop, so he removed her ability to have the situation continue and held her where she could do no harm, without bringing harm to her. Perfect military non-lethal de-escalation.”

He noticed Fordo straightening proudly out of the corner of his eye, and felt a twinge of amusement despite the situation. He glanced out the doorway to see the others he’d been training watching through the doorway, their gazes flickering around the room. A soft gasp for air made him glance towards 49, still strapped to the table, blood weeping gently from his neck. Now too did Jango realize the boy’s wrists and ankles were rubbed raw and bloody from trying to escape. He’d been aware for at least some of the process, but now he was utterly still and silent but for the occasional weak gasp for air. Jango growled softly, looking towards the others for a second. “Spar, Lucky, get 49 out of those cuffs and bring him to my room.”

Two of them darted into the Laboratory, shoulders hunched, uneasy, but they got to work even as Vara Kel stepped closer to object.

“Very well, your argument is logical, and put that way, I agree wholeheartedly with you. But we must continue the process with Alpha-49. He has already been heavily dosed with paralytics and amnesiacs. Should we not continue the process it is most likely that he will remain Comatose. You cannot simply stop in the middle of reformatting a hard drive.”

Jango growled at that, noticing Alphas 02 and 13 freezing at those words, glancing at each other, then down at their brother’s unconscious form, and then to Fordo. Jango looked over 49’s near-naked body; the blood weeping from his neck, his wrists and ankles rubbed raw and bleeding. He touched the boy’s jugular; his pulse irregular. He shook his head. “We’ll see what happens when he wakes up, Doctor Kel.”

“Jango I must insist that-”

“No,” Jango said it coldly, flatly. It was the same tone that could stop a fistfight between Skirata and Vau. Somehow, despite is being physically impossible, Vara Kel paled. “My rules have been broken enough for the day. All tests, exams and trials on my trainees are halted as of now, Alpha-49 is being brought to my quarters, and if you want to change any of that, I’ll expect a full detailed report on how you will ensure  _ nothing _ like this ever happens again.”

He gestured in frustration. Looking over, he saw that Spar and Lucky had managed to free the still unconscious 49 from the cuffs, and Lucky was shifting him to be held safely in Spar’s arms. He nodded once to them, spinning on his heel and walking out of the room, the Alphas scattering before him before clustering back up around 49 and Fordo. He glanced around and saw 99 watching, and nodded to him once. 99 looked down quietly, clearly upset. Once they got to his quarters, Jango turned to look over the dozen or so young men. “Make sure everyone knows what’s going on. If the Kaminoans say otherwise, I don’t want anyone thinking they have to go along with it. Fordo, don’t go wandering alone, just in case someone higher up than Vara Kel decides that maybe you will need an attitude adjustment after all that bullshit.”

“Yes sir,” 77 straightened at that, glancing towards Jango’s door as 02 carried 49 in as the others scattered in pairs and trios. Mercifully, Boba wasn’t in the room. Maybe visiting ‘Uncle Kal,’ Jango assumed. His seven year old son had killed people; Jango didn’t worry too much about him. He was cunning and quick, and more independent than these near full-grown soldiers in training around him. Jango had Spar leave 49 on the hastily cleared table, then sent him off with Fordo. He headed for the comm station and called up one of the Cuy’val Dar.

“Mij? Jango. I need you up in my quarters, bring supplies to remove broken needles from flesh and a detox kit.”

“What’s going on?”

“Kaminoan student thought they’d be useful and went to recondition one of the Alphas without permission. Another one interfered and broke the droid, but the boy’s all beat up and unresponsive.”

“I’ll be right there.”

 

It only took a couple minutes for Gilamar to get there. When Jango opened the door, he found the doctor accompanied by a couple spotty young CT units. He let out a long sigh to see them. “Mij…”

“You have an unusual injury for me to treat, I might as well make a learning experience out of it. Besides, I need assistants who are strong enough to hold him down if he struggles.”

“Mij….” Jango looked at the two eager youth. “How old are these kids?”

“5359 here is seven, and 1225’s six,” Gilamar said. “I know yours are bigger. Now move over, let’s see.”

Jango rolled his eyes. The two cadets moved in to flank Gilamar as he looked over 49. “I was expecting Spar…” Said Mij, frowning. “Which is this one?”

“49,” Jango said. Mij looked baffled a moment, but got to work, taking up a scanner, getting his cadets to help him. Jango leaned his hip up against the doorway to the washroom, not keeping vigil over his clone, just observing. Mij instructed one of his little assistants to add pressure around the wound carefully as he examined the embedded needle. After a moment, he set aside the scanner, face turning grey.

“I would very much like to know what a psychological reconditioning entails,” He said quietly. “This needle is… very deep in the boy’s neck.”

“Vara Kel said something about paralytics and amnesiacs,” Jango said with a grimace. “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

Mij grimaced in disgust, picking up a set of tweezer clamps and getting to work. “I don’t want to put any painkillers in his system, all this crap in his blood is an unknown factor, and I don’t know how it’d react to my sedatives or anesthetics,” He was saying to his students, who listened with rapt attention. “His heart rate is still fast, but settling. He’s not responding to pain, but that is likely the paralytics. Still, best we get this done with before he regains consciousness. You secure his head, Three-Fifty-Nine. Two two five, put your weight over his arms, just in case.”

The cadets obeyed, and Mij grasped the needle with his clamps and pulled it out in a single smooth motion. It kept coming, and Jango watched with increasing nausea as he realised just how massive the fucking thing was. It was thick like some sort of torture implement, and so long that it must have been embedded all the way into A-49’s  _ brainstem _ …

The awful, bloody needle, looking more like a cracked metal straw to Jango’s eyes now, was set on the table. 49 had not so much as twitched, though his next exhale gusted through his lips like a long, helpless whimper. Mij shook his head, petting the young man’s hair gently. “It’s alright, you’re safe now,” He murmured. There was no indication that 49 heard him; not a twitch, not a noise. “Alright… now the other one.”

“Other!?” Jango exclaimed.

“There’s another needle in there, much finer,” Said Mij, waving his scanner at Jango with a scowl. “What happened to cause all this again?”

“Fordo heard him screaming and broke down the door, then attacked the droid to save him,” Jango said dryly. Mij snorted despite himself.

“Good on him, but it could’ve easily been fatal to this one. I’m worried about his spinal cord, these needles being embedded in it and getting jerked hard enough to snap…”

Jango looked away. There was nothing to say, nothing to do but keep watch.


	4. Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippits focused on A-49's Recovery, and how everyone else reacts. Spar has a lot to think about regarding his own fate.
> 
> Okay, this got a lot longer than I realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of chapter 3 with all reference to broken needles removed:  
> Chapter 3 opens Jango in the middle of training a dozen or so Alphas when 99 bursts in to explain that the Kaminoans have reconditioned Alpha-49. Jango and these alphas follow 99 to the laboratory where he finds the place in shambles. A-49 is restrained to a bunk, bloody and unresponsive, there are pieces of droid scattered across the room, and Fordo is holding the Kaminoan student by the neck against a wall, wielding a piece of droid like a knife.  
> Jango ordered Fordo down, and Fordo explained breaking in to the lab because he could hear screaming from his batcher, and that the Kaminoan would not stop the process even when told that Jango would have needed to approve it, so he attacked to stop the reconditioning.  
> Vara Kel, the elder Kaminoan is angered by her student’s decision to start the reconditioning without permission. Despite all this, It is stated that the reconditioning process for A-49 must now be completed, and that Fordo ought to be reconditioned as well, due to the aggressiveness of his attack. Jango disagrees with both statements, saying that Fordo did exactly as Jango would have expected, ending the situation without actually killing anyone. Fordo, despite the situation, takes pride in Jango’s words.  
> Vara Kel insists that 49 must be fully reconditioned. “You cannot simply stop in the middle of reformatting a hard drive.” But Jango has Alphas 02 and 13 free 49 from the medical table and carry him to Jango’s quarters. He orders that all tests and trials that the kaminoans are planning ont he alphas are to be halted as of now, and tells the Alphas around him to ensure everyone has the message.  
> Once at his room, Jango calls Mij Gilamar to come treat 49’s injuries. When Mij arrives with two trainee cadets, he is surprised to learn that it wasn’t Spar who the Kaminoans attempted to reprocess, but he treats the injuries, wondering aloud what exactly is entailed in a reconditioning. A-49 remains unconcious and unresponsive the entire time, despite the fact Gilamar doesn’t want to use any painkillers due to not knowing how it could react with whatever the Kaminoans already put in the boy.  
> Jango keeps watch over the situation, feeling sick.

Alpha-02 wasn’t surprised to find Dr Gilamar was out of his medcenter. He sat on one of the bunks anyway, and gripped the edge of it tightly, looking away from the bright halos cast by the medbay lights. The Doctor had once suggested- had _offered_ … it was madness to think about leaving, even if Spar didn’t want to be part of this _grand army_ that their own progen looked at with barely concealed disdain.

But… 49 was one of the _perfect_ Alphas. Unremarkable except for his skill. He was sharp and cunning, but he knew better than to truly rebel. A follower. The perfect little Kamino-bred commando. If this could happen to _him_ …

Spar chewed his lip, head dropped, feeling a tremor deep in his bones. As his eyes drifted shut, flashes of memories not his own mingled with his own thoughts, pounding against the inside of his skull… father being shot- mother- _No, no, no, NO. That’s Jango, not me. Jango had a mother and father. I have a TANK._

He took a long breath and let it out again. The flashes weren’t as bad as he played up to the others or Mij, but they were there… and they always seemed to accompany searing pain in his head or spine. The worst were when the memories of Jango’s time as a slave in the mines came to the forefront; they would claw at his bones and chill his heart-

He was seven years old, and physically a late teenager. His head was full of memories not his own. He and his batchers were slaves to masters they’d never met. They knew that as soon as Jango declared them trained up, they’d be tossed into stasis tubes; on ice until the Jedi came for them.  If the Jedi didn’t needed them for longer than anticipated, there was no point in letting perfectly good supercommandos age past the point of usefulness after all. Besides, the Kaminoans didn’t trust the Alphas’ collective ability to stay out of trouble.

 _If only they knew…_ Spar rubbed at his chin, eyes opening to flick around the small medbay. He noticed one of Gilamar’s little trainees watching him cautiously from across the room and curled his lip disdainfully. That cadet was probably only a month or so younger than the Alphas, but he was still spotty and gangly; accelerated slower. Smaller, weaker, more obedient. Lesser in every way. A perfect little CT unit… except- Oh, of course. Gilamar had a soft spot for the broken and dysfunctional ( _Like yourself,_ some traitorous part of his brain hissed),and Spar realized after a moment what was wrong with the kid. Blue eyes. He curled his lip further.

“What do you want, _mutie_?”

“Dr Gilamar isn’t here,” Said the malformed brother, not taking his imperfect eyes off Spar. His only malformation was the color of his eyes, but the Kaminoans looked down on him almost as strongly as they did 99, Spar knew this. The youngster kept his chin high regardless of their mutterings, and continued to prove himself an exemplary medic. “Figured that you were here for more painkillers. You want some?”

“You allowed to get into the stock without him here?” Spar asked, perking up. Hells did he want some painkillers. The damn headache from thinking about everything that had happened in the last half-hour on top of the flash-migranes was starting to get to him. He’d be nice to the little mutie if it got him the good stuff.

“No, but I can anyway,” Said the cadet, wrinkling his nose and glaring at Spar. There was some distinct muttering from the next room behind the little blue-eyes that told Spar there was at least one more medic-in-training back there.

“Well hell yes I want some then. The Kaminoans keep trying to cut me off it ‘cause they don’t think I need it!” Spar said, grimacing. “Doc’s gonna be busy for a while on 49…” He trailed off, remembering the sight of his brother restrained to the medical berth, still as death, blood dripping to the floor.

“Sure,” Said the younger brother, tilting his head. “But you have to apologize for calling me a mutie first.” Spar blinked, looking at the little one sharply. The young medic stared back, gaze narrow. “My name is Saph.”

“Saph.”

“Yeah, it’s short for Sapphire,” The Cadet raised his chin, looking pleased.

“You named yourself after you eyes? You’re _proud_ of being a mutie?” Spar laughed at the absurdity of it. The little mutie’s expression faded into a scowl.

“It’s just my eyes, _Alpha,_ and besides, there are six hundred and thirteen CT units of various ages with the blue eyes mutation, it’s just a recessive gene from Jango expressing itself. We’re not that weird.”

“If it makes you feel better, you can say it, I guess,” Spar said with an idle grin and a shrug. He looked the other clone in the deformed eye. “ _Mutie._ ”

Saph crossed his arms, looking angry. Spar was inwardly amused by the little one’s posturing. Finally Saph scoffed. “You know… Alpha-02. There’s more Blue-eyes than there are Alphas… that makes you the real aberration from the template.”

“Excuse me?” Spar growled, standing up. How dare the little freak compare his batch’s enhanced nature to an abnormality!? Were Saph fully grown in his prime, he’d still likely lack fifty-odd pounds of muscle compared to the supercommando. As it was, Spar towered over the little shit as he stepped close, looking down at this impudent brat who barely matched Spar’s shoulders in height.

“You heard me,” Said Saph, raising his chin to look Spar in the eye as the Alpha-class stood before him. The corner of his mouth curled in an angry smile. “ _Mutie_.”

Spar lunged with an angry snarl that had Saph retreating back into the side room like his fellow medical trainees could protect him. Spar went after him, even knowing what a bad idea it’d be to hurt a _vod’ika_ for mouthing off. The little fucker needed to be taught a lesson about the difference between being a specially bred clone and being a _freak._ “You filthy little mutant!” He snarled, trying to grab the kid’s shirtcollar. Saph dropped to the ground and Spar felt a jab in his calf before he could react. He jerked away from the cadet and yanked the hypospray away from his leg, glaring at Saph in disgust and tossing it away. “You little fucker!”

“I think An Alpha needs a higher percentage of sedative by weight than us,” Said one of the other trainees quietly. Spar glanced at him briefly. “Especially if it’s going in muscle instead of vein…”

Saph took a step back. Spar made to move after him, but stumbled slightly, leg starting to numb. _Little shit!_ The smaller cadet glanced once towards his fellows, the one who’d spoken shifting his weight uneasily, the third staring Spar down intensely. Spar spat, glaring daggers at Saph. “I’m going to rip your damn head off. Gilamar isn’t here to save you.”

“Come and get me,” Hissed Saph, the effect ruined by his voice cracking. Spar smirked, stalking forward ungracefully, his leg continuing to numb. He could feel the sedatives trying to kick in, but his body would burn them off soon enough. Saph watched Spar approach, and this time Spar saw the needle; tucked into the cadet’s sleeve, peeking between his fingers. Clever little fucker. Spar lunged, intending to grab that wrist and immobilize it. Instead of trying to meet the Alpha head on, Saph went low again, and for Spar’s good leg, shoving all his weight onto it, which swept him off his feet.

Spar went down, flinging out his arms to stop his head from impacting the ground, and in that instant, when his arms were out, pressed to the floor, Saph was on him, jabbing the sedatives straight into the side of the neck where they were supposed to go. “6116! Deese! Help!”

Suddenly, Spar was being held down. He growled up at the three trainees sitting on his chest and arms, and flexed, preparing to throw them off. Someone clapped their hands hard against his ears, and in the time it took for them to stop ringing and his vision to come back from the white out, the sedatives had kicked in enough to make him too weak to fight back. He could hear them talking about what to do with him until Gilamar came back but it was all so distant…

 

Consciousness was a terrible idea. Spar hated it. He glared up at the lights above him and tried to sit up. That was when he realized he was restrained. Ugh. Then the events of the day came back to him and he panicked, trying to jerk free of the cuffs. “Jango said that-”

“Spar,” Mij Gilamar’s voice broke through the rising panic in his chest. Mij wouldn’t let them recondition him, Mij would protect him. He slumped back against the restraints and turned his head, seeking out the doctor.

A hand dropped lightly onto his chest and Spar turned his head to look at Gilamar as the Doctor unclipped the restraints holding him down. Relieved, Spar sat up, rubbing his wrists. He looked up at Mij, opening his mouth to say something about Gilamar’s pet mutie, before noticing the simmering fury in the man’s eyes, and decided on a wiser (and more important) course. “Hows 49?”

Mij’s look of anger deflated slightly at that, but not totally. He sighed, tapping his fingers on the bunk beside one of the cuffs. “He’ll live with no permanent physical damage. Hasn’t stirred yet. I told Jango to keep an eye on him and call me as soon as 49 makes up.”

“The Kaminoan said… 49 might be a blank hard drive now… or something like that,” Spar said, tone questioning. He needed to know. Mij sighed again.

“I don’t know Spar. I don’t know much about reconditioning or reprocessing,” Mij ran a hand through his hair. “Now… what’s this about you attacking my trainees?”

“Oh!” Spar sat upright. “Your little mutie student, he-”

“Do not use language like that about your vod’e!” Mij snapped, shoving a finger in Spar’s face. Spar was taken aback, falling silent. A giggle from the next room had him glance over to spot said little mutie and another peering out of the back room. Dr Gilamar swung around and pointed towards the door. “All of you, out. This is a private conversation!”

The young medics scarpered, and Spar watched it with a certain level of satisfaction, but he quickly hid the smirk when the doctor rounded on him again. Gilamar took a long breath. “You get enough maltreatment and abuse already without turning yourselves into instruments to hurt your fellow clones further.”

Spar blinked, rubbing his face. “I’m not hurting the little mu- cadet. He’s a mutie, that’s all. He shouldn’t be saying things that are untrue.”

“This might amaze you, Spar,” Mij said dryly. “But the Kaminoans’ understanding of genetics and how they can affect humans is filtered through their cultural beliefs and personal biases. The human genome is many times more complex than the Kaminoan one. Their genes don’t change based on how they’re treated like human genes do. And beyond that, when you call another clone a mutie for something irrelevant like their eye color, or their hair being the wrong texture, you’re parroting the Kaminoans. Do you really think the Kaminoans deserve to have you doing their work for them?”

Spar looked away. “It’s different. Clones gotta stick together, be a cohesive unit, all the same.”

“What does eye color have to do with it?”

Spar didn’t answer, still looking away, uncomfortable. After a moment, Mij kept talking. “You know how the Kaminoans look down on their own who don’t have black eyes. Blue and brown are considered to be lower class. Skirata heard about a green-eyes who was put to death as a ‘threat to society.’ It’s a ridiculous belief that none of the cuy’val dar share about our respective species. So then tell me Spar, where must you have learned it?”

He cringed, looking away. “It’s not the same Mij. If we’re not all the same, we’re wrong.”

“What the Kaminoans say is true and what is true can be different things, Spar. We will keep fighting on your behalf, backing you up. You gain nothing attacking Saph for something he can’t help. Would you do that to 99?”

Spar flinched again. Then he shook his head. “ _You_ ’ll keep fighting for us. But Jango won’t. Skirata only cares about his precious sons. And the others…”

“Priest won’t be hurting anyone else, I made _sure_ of it,” Mij muttered darkly. Then he sighed. “You’re right though. I will keep advocating for you, and helping you as long as I’m able. Not enough people here have enough of a damn conscience to do enough to help all of you. You deserve better than I can offer you. But please, don’t push others down to elevate yourself, it does no good.”

Spar scrubbed his hands through his hair, and decided to try and change the subject. “Can I please get something for my migrane now?”

\---

 

There was… a voice. Someone was talking. The words were indistinct and muffled, but someone was saying something. He tried to open his eyes and say something but everything was heavy and fuzzy. There was Pain, too, searing pain in his neck and his chest and his head, but he wasn’t in his head, he was three feet to the left of his body so that was okay. The fuzzy pins and needles increased and he sluggishly wondered if someone was laying hands on his body.

His eyes fell open, just a hair, but it still seemed more like he was watching from three feet to the left as he was carried off the table in the white room and brought through a doorway and put on… Jango’s bed? As he was settled on the mattress and covered with a blanket, the pins and needles increased until it was nothing but static filling his head, washing over his skin and echoing in his bones.

Light and shadow played in front of his eyes as a hand waved there, and then fingers were gently pressing his eyelids shut. It was all static, anyway. Time was false, it just came and went, pulling and stretching or compressing as it so pleased. He could start making sense of voices at some point, but they were too fast, or two slow. They resonated strangely. But the more he listened the closer his shifted to his body, and the pain. He didn’t like that part.

The voices eventually left him alone, but he still continued to shift closer to his body. The static faded back to pins and needles as the light that assaulted his eyelids changed in intensity, first brightening, then dimming. It seemed the dimming process was slower, but at the same time… he was becoming more aware, and the occasional voices were less distorted. Finally, he was in his body again, laying on a bed, and fully aware of the pain he was in. His wrists hurt terribly, and he tried to move out from under the blankets, but he was trapped. Helpless. The blankets were made of lead, and he was helpless and weak for whatever anyone would want to do to him-

A noise. To say he froze would be exaggeration, as he could not move at all, but he listened. Nothing. He didn’t-relax, and there it was again.

It was his breathing. The sound of air being sucked into his lungs, and then squished out again. That was okay. The pain, ever-present, was an irritation; an itch he couldn’t scratch. But he could breathe. He was in his body. The pins and needles were fading away even as the blankets kept him trapped. He could manage but he wanted to move. He needed it. He needed to escape…

It was dark. He could hear a storm outside. The clap of thunder gave no reference to him for time, but at some point, the lights of the room began to brighten again. His eyes were growing heavier though, exhaustion claiming him, and he closed them against the slowly rising sun.

A beam of sunlight managed to slip through clouds and window, specifically to assault him in the eyes. He let out a little moan and automatically tried to raise an arm to cover his face. The slight movement rubbed his wrist against the blanket, and it brought back the pain, the pins-and-needles the… the…

_The droid hovering over him as he struggled, shouting for them to stop-_

He let out a cry and tried to roll free. The blanket went with him and he fell to the floor with a thump that jolted up through his neck and into his skull. He cried out again, struggling and disorientated. He didn’t hear the door open, but he felt the hands on him. He tried to lash out, still cornered by the bedsheets.

“49, it’s me. Breathe! It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The voice was… familiar. The accent, the tone of it. He knew them. Anyone who shared his voice was safe, they were safe; Vod. He slumped, breathing heavily as his was unwound from the blankets, the Voice speaking to him soothingly.

“There you are, you slept all day and all night. Can’t blame you for it though. Easy now, Mij treated your injuries but now that you’re up he’ll want to come give you another once over.” His arms were freed and he was pulled into a sitting position. He didn’t even think about it; This was a Safe Person, and he had been so afraid, when he’d been able to feel at all, he wrapped his arms around them and hid his face under their chin. A startled flinch from his rescuer went almost unnoticed as he tried to burrow closer. And then the shaking started. He couldn’t stop the way his whole body shook and quaked. The Safe Person shushed him gently, patting his shoulders. “It’s over.”

A low whine escaped his chest before he could stop it, and he trembled and shook, clinging to them. Finally, he managed to wipe his eyes dry, trying to control himself, not look weak in front of his-

Jango. Not a vod. _Jango._ A-49 flinched like he’d been poked with a shock rod. Nothing made sense. Why was Jango holding him? Where was he? Where were his Vod’e!? He needed…

“Here, sit,” Jango said, helping lift 49 back onto the bed, making him sit on the edge. “How are you feeling?”

49 looked at him suspiciously, not sure what was happening. Was he still drugged? Jango looked out for them but he’d never _father_ them. They’d all known that for a very long time. Jango would pry them from his legs when they tried to cling, he’d walk away when they called him words like “Baba” or “Buir” that they heard Skirata referred as to by the Nulls. He wouldn’t hold or comfort them. 49 took a long inhale, trying to compose himself. “I-”

His voice cracked like he was going through puberty again and he flinched, shutting his mouth. Jango sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly. A-49 leaned away, uncomfortable with the situation. Seeming to notice, Jango stood up and stepped back, suddenly awkward. “I should go get Mij. Do you remember what happened?”

“...” _The droid hovering over him, the gleaming syringe emerging from a slat in it’s base… The Kaminoan’s smug gaze as he struggled against the numbness of his throat…_ “They were… running tests… then… I don’t… I don’t know.” He said quietly. Jango nodded, expression perturbed.

“Stay here. I’ll go get Mij.”

 _Don’t leave me alone, I’m scared._ “Okay.”

Alpha-49 watched Jango go, then took a shuddering breath, not understanding at all. The bed was… comfortable though, especially without the blanket trapping him. If Jango had left him here then it was okay to slowly collapse back onto it… to close his eyes…

The door opened and he opened his eyes. The light from the window had shifted slightly, indicating some passage of time. He blinked, quite sure it’d only been a moment. But here was Jango, back again with Doctor Gilamar and… another vod. Maybe. The Doctor moved in, speaking softly to him, telling Spar (That was 02? He didn’t recognize him) to help 49 out to the table so he wouldn’t bleed on the bedspread while Mij check his injuries over.

“Take it easy, your spine’s taken a beating,” Gilamar said. “You need to rest and recover. At least a week. Ideally much longer.”

49 grunted at that, closing his eyes against the ceiling lights. Gilamar’s voice faded out and he opened his eyes hurriedly, only to notice everyone’s position in the room had shifted around enough that he must have… dozed off? Lost consciousness?

He didn’t like that much. Gilamar spoke gently, tending his wounds, and he tried not to jerk every time the doctor’s fingers found his head or neck, but he couldn’t help it.

 

Spar watched as Dr. Gilamar tended his batcher. 49 had stared up at the ceiling without blinking for several minutes before closing his eyes. Then, while Mij was setting up an IV to rehydrate his batcher, 49 had jolted awake, eyes flicking around in confusion. Jango had told Mij that when 49 first woke up, he’d gone limp in Jango’s hold and Jango had needed to wrestle him back up onto the bed, and 49 had attempted to speak, only to go silent and dumb for a couple minutes before continuing the sentence like no time had passed.

That was terrifying. He edged a little closer, watching as Mij cleaned each wound, speaking to 49 like he was a cornered animal. Sometimes there’d be a little noise of acknowledgement, sometimes 49 would turn his eyes to look at the doctor, but it was intermittent. Spar wanted to leave, to not watch what seemed to be his batcher dieing. But he stayed, because whenever 49 regained lucidity, his eyes would widen with panic and search the room frantically until they found Spar. And then a low sigh would escape his brother, who relaxed to see him standing there. Gilamar wasn’t Safe. Jango wasn’t Safe. Spar was Safe, though, so he’d stay.

Despite everything, he wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. He was needed.

\---

 

Okay it was officially creepy. Where WAS everyone!?

Spar checked on another of his batchers’ doors, feeling confused. None of them were in the sim room, or the target range, or even their mess hall. Unsettled, he tried to think of anywhere else they might be. He wandered down the hall, feeling on edge at the utter absence of the group. Everyone’s bunk was stripped of it’s thin mattress and pillow, his own included, adding to his unease.

He turned a corner and paused to listen, thinking he heard voices. After a few seconds of listening he moved silently in that direction, wary of danger. He found his entire batch arrayed out in one of the big computer-training hub rooms. The Terminals used to train the little brothers on had been pulled out and shoved ignobly into one corner, and the Alphas had laid out their mattresses across the floor and many levels that had once been filled with electronics and chairs.

“Uh,” He said eloquently. 22 and 30 were sitting on one side of the door and spotted him, inclining their heads to invite him to join them. He went over, looking for answers. “The fuck’s going on?”

“Making sure the Kaminoans don’t try and pull any bullshit. You know they can lock each of our rooms remotely, yeah?” Said Sull, brow furrowed. “Nala Se came down and started trying to question 77. Said it was For The Record, but she got mad when he wouldn’t go with her. So we all set up in here.”

“Smart,” Said Spar. “Where’s my mattress? Assuming y’all took it.”

“In the middle by 77 and 99,” Said Tavo. “Everyone the kaminiise might be thinking about a bit too much gets the middle. They can’t get at you sneakily that way.”

Spar blinked, then nodded. They all knew he was one of the ‘At Risks’ should the Kaminoans start looking over the Alpha ranks with a fine-toothed comb. He carefully wove his way around his batchers, some sleeping, some chatting. 52 watched him as he carefully slid by, nodding once as Spar edged towards his bunk. 77 was sitting on the first level of “stairs” up the edge of the room, talking to 17, Blitz and 45. Ugh, four of the Six ‘Commanders’ all in a cluster. He did not want to be anywhere near that lot. He didn’t need them bossing him around. Oh no wait, there were 66 and 67. At least they appeared to be sleeping. He found his mat and sat, nodding once to 99, who has a very peculiar expression on his misshapen face.

“T-There you are. I wanted to come look for you, but no one wanted me to leave i-in case the Kaminoans had eyes out.”

“I was in Gilamar’s medbay,” Said Spar. “Slept there overnight.”

Well. Not the whole truth, but no one needed to learn about him getting his ass kicked by a bunch of baby regulars. 99 nodded quietly, tapping his fingers nervously on the ground. Spar rubbed a hand over his face. “No Kaminoans in our area at all,” He told 99, speaking up so anyone eavesdropping on them could hear his report. “Didn’t run into any between here and Jango’s room.”

“You were at Jango’s?” Asked Fordo. “Any word on 49?”

66 and 67 sat up to listen, and were hardly the only ones. Noticing all six of their leaderly vod’e paying attention to Spar, the room fell silent, curious. Spar glanced around, then sighed, leaned back on his hands. “Jango came to get Gilamar ‘cause 49 had woken up. I went along to help. He’s… He can talk but he kept passing out. He couldn’t stand up or move really, they needed me to carry him.”

“Is he… still 49?” Asked 45. Spar shrugged.

“Don’t know. He kept making sure I was still in the room so I figure he recognized me, so that’s a good sign, yeah?”

“We can hope,” Growled 17. “Jango won’t protect him forever.”

 _Won’t. Not Can’t._ Spar mentally agreed. He glanced at 99, then down at his lap when 99 briefly met his gaze. “He’ll give him more of a chance than the Kaminiise, at least.”

There was a pregnant pause, the room strangely quiet for having 98 highly aggressive and argumentative young supercommandos (and 99) contained within its four walls. Finally Nice spoke up with a low growl. “We can’t just move in here permanently. We need food, and to use the damn shitter sometimes.”

“We move in groups of five or more,” Said 66, shifting on his mattress. “And we keep watch so the Kaminiise don’t try and lock us in here for anything dastardly. Jango might have something else to say on the matter, but no matter his opinion, no one leaves this room alone until all this has settled down.”

“Says who?” Snorted Nice. “I’ll go along with this for a bit but no way I’m sleeping with all your shab-”

“Says me!” Snarled 66.

“And all of us,” Added 17 flatly, indicating himself and the other four leaderly types. Spar grinned that he wasn’t the focus of any of their annoyance, stretching out on his mat. “Got a problem with that, 69?”

69 -Nice let out a longsuffering sort of sight and settled down on his mattress. 17 grunted, looking out over the group. “Any more objections?”

-

“By the way, I’m a girl.”

“Huuh… wait,” 88 rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked over at his best friend. “You’re a girl, that’s what you said?”

“Yeah,” Said 13.

“Okay. I don’t know how that works, but Aight.”

“It works like this: I just know and if you give me shit I’ll break your jaw.”

“Mmmkay. So what should I be doing about it?” 88 finally managed to rub all the sleep out of his eyes to look at his batcher. Seemed like a weird time to bring it up, what with everyone camping in the old computer lab and all that’d happened, but then maybe 13 had been taking advantage of one of the computers to do research.

“Just talk about me the same way you would one of the women in the cuy'val dar, di'kut.”

“Aah, yea I can do that.” He dropped back onto his mat as 13 adjusted her pillow. “Hate to ask a stupid question but-”

“Then don’t.”

“-Why right now?”

“Cause I’m sure right now.”

“Fair.”

\---

A-67 watched as 03 and 78 snarled at each other, almost at blows. 77 had gone to lecture them, but there wasn’t much good it’d do. Despite having put themselves here, they all felt trapped, on edge. What had happened to 49 made them all uneasy. A couple Kaminoans had come by and claimed the whole incident was an _accident_. But the Kaminiise never admitted to accidents. No one wanted to follow the orders to return to their rooms, and they had Jango’s blessing to say no, but still, every Alpha was uneasy. They knew better than to take it out on the Kaminoans who would periodically look into the room and try to order them all back to quarters.

67 tapped his fingers on the shelf, glancing around and taking stock of his batch. Some were happily taking the opportunity to laze about and do absolutely nothing, or simply practicing the still readiness that Jango was training into them. Others were getting edgy and impatient. They needed something to do, not just simply because of the energy they had, but the nerves, the concern. One of their own had been harmed, reduced to helpless, and they feared that. They were afraid for themselves and… they feared for their vod. No one would outright say it, but they were worried about 49, and the not knowing… it was frightening.

He let out a sigh, standing up and glancing at his trinemates. 45 was one of his closest brothers, along with Blitz, and he shuddered to think about losing them to something as horrible as Kaminoan carelessness. He glanced at 45, wondering how he was feeling about it; he and 49 weren’t particularly close now, but they had been crechemates. There was a history there. He supposed he could just ask 45, but it seemed… impolite somehow, to ask someone to admit a vulnerability. 45 caught him looking and cocked a brow at him.

“What?”

“Thinking about going over to Jango’s room, we should make sure he knows what our plan is so he can officially approve of it. Then the Kaminoans will have to leave us alone,” 67 answered, not completely untruthful.

“It’s a good plan. I’ll go along too. Then we just need three more,” Said 45, standing up. 67 nodded. He opened his mouth to ask for Volunteers, but before he could say a word, 02 had shot to his feet. “You want to come, Spar?”

“Yup.”

“Alright. We need at least two more then.”

“I-I’ll come,” Said 99, pushing himself up, looking nervous. 67 frowned at him.

“If you want but… if you and Spar are coming we should have one extra, just in case.”

“Oh… I-I can stay if… not enough want to go,” 99 said, looking at the ground. 67 felt kind of guilty for making his batcher feel unwelcome, but he thought his concern was completely valid. With two of the ones the Kaminoans looked at negatively in the group, they needed to be surrounded by their more fit vod’e to be kept safe.

“Well, I’m going, I want to see how bad’a shape 49’s in and actually know th’hell’s going on,” Said 32.

“Good, we need one more, then,” Said 67, looking around. No one seemed particularly inclined to want to go, and 99 let out a quiet sigh of resignation and moved to sit back down, holding his wrist. 67 caught 45’s eye, wanting to do something about it but unsure what. He couldn’t exactly change what he’d said. 45 wrinkled his nose and turned to their trinemate. “Blitz get your lazy ass up and come with us to Jango’s room.”

“S’gonna be crowded as fuck,” Complained 73. 45 stared 73 in the eye a moment, then Blitz glanced over to look at 67. 67 just looked back, then flicked his eyes to 99. Blitz let out a long annoyed sigh. “Alright, fine, I’ll come.”

“That’s five of us, plus 99,” Said 67, offering a hand up to their youngest batcher, who seemed to bounce to his feet. He glanced over to 17 and 66. “You guys gonna be able to hold down the fort?”

“Eh, Fordo’ll have those di’kut’e beat into shape soon enough,” Said 66. “Safe travels, as it were.”

\---

 

Jango opened the door, fully expecting to have to tell Taun We, that no, he had not changed his mind, thank you. Yes she’d already told him what the other Alphas had done. It was fine. They were just unsure as to the situation and acting defensively. Nothing to worry about.

He blinked to find five of his clones instead- oh and 99 too. “Boys.”

“Sir,” Said one. Jango’s eyes flicked briefly to his training fatigues to make sure he had the right serial number. Even after seven years, he found who was what number well too easy to mix up and was relieved that some of them were accepting of having names given to them. He glanced back up at 45’s face. “We wanted to get an update about what’s going on and tell you what we’re doing.”

“Alright, come in,” He said, moving into his quarters. Boba was sitting on the floor, but seeing the others coming in, he got up and moved off into the kitchen, watching intently. “49’s in my bed right now. Mij gave him a light sedative, but didn’t want to do too much.”

Before he’d finished talking, one of them had broken off to go check on 49, 99 following quietly behind him. Jango gestured at his table, and the four others found places to sit around it. Jango look them over then turned to Boba and spoke to him- not in Mando’a, but in the coded language he’d developed and taught the boy. Boba nodded and scuttled further into the kitchen. Jango turned back to the Alphas as Boba could be heard clattering around.

“Mij says 49 should make a full physical recovery. Mentally, it’s a bit early to tell. He’s fading in and out of consciousness, but the levels of the drugs the Kaminoans put in him are still pretty high. He managed to bully some details about reconditioning out of Taun We. Generally speaking, reconditioning takes a couple hours, then the subjects are kept on the medical tables for a few days before they’re coherent enough to test for functionality. So we have about a week before the Kaminoans start enquiring as to 49’s condition.”

There were nods all around, the one who’d gone to check on 49- oh, Spar- poking his head out of Jango’s room to listen. “But 49 didn’t get the full dose of anything. Fordo broke the Droid before that,” He said. “So he should wake up sooner, right?”

“Yeah, but the longer 49 has to recover the better,” Jango said, taking in the whole group to be sure he was right about who each of them were. Spar, 99, Blitz, 67, 45, and 32. Those last three he recognized and could identify on sight, of course. He could look at one of his trainees and say what their personality was, but damned if he could ever remember everyone’s number. 17 was memorable with his damned leaderly attitude. 49 because he had babysat Boba. 99 because… well. Everything. But the rest. All the numbers mixed together. “Mij didn’t detect any damage to his spinal cord, but he might be kind of unsteady for a little while. Beyond that though… Mij is worried about the psychological trauma this could cause 49, on top of anything the drugs might have done to his mental state.”

“But you and the Kaminoans trained us to withstand all of that,” Spoke up Blitz, putting elbows on the table. “So that shouldn’t even be a concern.”

Jango grimaced, and tried not to flinch, but seeing their expressions tighten slightly, he knew he’d failed. Luckily, Boba provided a distraction by appearing with a stack of cups balanced on top of a jug of juice. “Boba! What are you doing!?” He demanded, hurrying over to prevent the glasses from tumbling over. He set them on the table, looking at his son. Boba pouted.

“I got juice for everyone! And 49 too in case he wants some.”

Jango let out a long sigh, nodding once. “Thank you, Boba.”

Boba blinked, looking towards the bedroom. “Can I go check on 49 dad?”

“Yeah sure bud,” Jango said. Boba was mature enough to handle the situation, but the boy didn’t need to hear all the nitty gritty details. Once Boba had dodged around 99 into the bedroom as the malfigured clone came out to listen better, and the door had shut, did Jango lean his hands on the table.

“Well, help yourselves to juice, I guess,” Nobody moved. “I’ve trained you all to resist torture and intimidation. I’ve tried to teach you methods to mitigate stress from combat and difficult situations. It’s impossible to make a person immune to psychological distress short of killing them. Nothing can truly make someone immune to traumatic stress and what happened here… this is not something I could have trained you for. Beyond that, this was a procedure designed specifically to break through all of that and leave behind a blank slate. I don’t know what effect stopping the procedure might have had on 49. He might end up similar to… Well,” He glanced at Spar, who grimaced angrily, looking out the window. “He could be reduced to a child mentally, he could have empty holes in his memory. I don’t know. If he just ends up with the same issues you have, Spar, then I’ll be able to argue them down about any further procedures easily enough.”

“But if it’s the other two… they’ll want to finish the reconditioning, and there won’t be anything else you can do for him.” Said Blitz with a growl. Jango nodded uncomfortably.

“And there could be so many other results with him. The mind is a complex beast. For all we know, 49’s brain could’ve decided that what happened was enough to paralyze him, and despite everything being physically alright and him wanting to get up and walk, he won’t be able do because his hindbrain shut it all down.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Snorted 32.

“It’s not a conscious choice. Like I said, the brain’s an ugly, nasty beast, 32,” Said Jango with a long sigh. “We won’t know til he awake and coherent enough to chat.”

“What if he isn’t? When the week’s up?” Asked 45, brow furrowed.

Jango sighed. “I don’t know. I really don’t. What did you want to tell me?”

67 crossed his arms on the table and began to explain to Jango how they’d moved into one of the old computer rooms an arranged it so they had to move in groups of five or more. Jango nodded approvingly to hear the plan, scratching his chin. “I like it. We’ll focus on group training this week while we wait and see. Taun We’s been banned from my room by Boba right now-” The lot of them snickered at that. “No really, he said 49 needed sleep.”

More chuckles, a couple of them shaking their heads almost fondly. Jango sighed, straightening. “If you want to check in on him, feel free, just be mindful of him being disorientated if he’s even awake.”

“He was out like a light when I just looked in on him,” Said Spar with a shrug. Jango nodded, watching as 45 and 67 got up to take a look. When the door opened, 67 gave a soft exclamation.

“Boba what are you doing!?”

Aannnd Jango hurried over to see his son sitting cross-legged on the bed with a look of concentration on his face and a bowl in his hand. His son looked up with a slightly annoyed expression. “I’m trying to give 49 some juice. He needs energy to heal, right?”

“That’s what the IV Mij set up is for,” Jango said with exasperation as Boba held the bowl to 49’s mouth and poured a trickle of liquid past his lips. Bobba hummed, rubbing 49’s throat until there was a reflexive swallow. “That’s enough Boba, the juice might upset his stomach.”

Boba looked disappointed, but nodded, setting the bowl aside and getting off the bed. “But you taught me how to feed unconscious people dad!”

“Yeah, but that’s for the worst case scenario when you can’t give them a nutrient feed. 49’s okay right now.”

“Okay…” Boba shuffled his feet and moved to sit on the ledge by the window. The clones shook their heads and moved over to check on their batcher, 45 gently investigating the bandages, 67 taking in the whole picture without touching.

“He doesn’t look comfortable,” Commented 67.

“No… whatever the paralytics are, they apparently cause some pain. Nothing much can be done except let him sleep them off though, according to Mij,” Explained Jango. 67 nodded, looking down at 49, who was shifting minutely. Jango thought he saw a shimmer under the boy’s eyelids. “He might be waking up.”

“That’s good,” Said 45, putting a hand on 49’s shoulder. “You’re in Jango’s room and you’re healing up, so don’t worry about the Kaminiise.”

49 let out a low noise that might’ve been a hum of acknowledgement, or maybe just a response to the touch. His eyelids did flicker open though, looking at 45 with no recognition. Jango’s stomach felt rather leaden at that, but he reminded himself that 49 had been responsive to Spar’s presence earlier, so maybe he was still groggy, or the dimmer light was making it hard to see. 45 straightened up, crossing his arms in a way that seemed like he was trying to seem unconcerned. “Lucky you, getting to laze around for so long.”

“Mmmm,” it was acknowledgement, anyway. 45 and 67 both visibly brightened at the response. 49 attempted to move, and his face flexed in pain but… there was a difference. The way it moved was not unlike how 99’s have moved, before it had become fully paralyzed. Jango came forward to help 49 sit up.

“Easy now. Are you thirsty?”

49 blinked at him before his eyes unfocused. Jango worried a bit, glancing to 67, about to tell him to maybe see about going to get Gilamar when 49 spoke, though his voice slurred.

“Yeah… kinda.”

“Go get some water for him,” Jango instructed. 45 went to do it immediately while 67 updated the others. They all crowded around the doorway, but 49 didn’t seem to notice. “How are you feeling 49?”

“...”

Jango saw his eyes unfocusing again and sighed, glancing at the others. Seeing pinched or carefully blank expressions, he waved a hand at them. “He was like this earlier too. He’s still partly sedated and anesthetized, don’t forget.”

“Here,” said 45, returning with one of Boba’s plastic cups. Probably sensible. Jango took it and was moving to hold it to 49’s lips when the young man answered his earlier question.

“Like’had’a bad flash run…”

“Yeah?”

No response again. Jango held the cup to 49’s mouth and slowly tipped water down the lad’s throat, and he did drink it, slowly. He was looking at 45 blearily. 45 leaned in a bit. “You remember what happened?”

49 flinched slightly, and Jango felt him start to tremble. Jango gave his head a warning shake to 45, who frowned. “Nevermind 49, finish the water.” Said Jango, indicating with a jerk of his head that 45 come support 49 so Jango could move around. 45 obeyed, carefully navigating around the IV setup before putting an arm over 49’s back to keep him upright. 49 looked at him.

“Why’re you here?” 49 asked his batcher. 45 snorted at that.

“Cause everyone was wondering if you were gonna live, Vod.”

“You never care about anyone though.”

45 paused, looking both confused and offended, even as there were snickers from the doorway. Jango pursed his lips, torn between amusement and concern. It wasn’t surprising the boy was a bit confused, he supposed. “Don’t be so mean to 45. He’s your brother.”

49 blinked, head falling sideways and he twitched in pain. Jango moved to help support his head. “45?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

49 looked confused, looking at Jango, then 45. “But… That’s Spar.”

“Wait, you think I’m 02!?” Exclaimed 45 in offense. Jango shot him a warning look, but 45 continued. “My hair’s buzzed down! He doesn’t talk at all like me!”

“But it was 02. He was just here…” said 49, unfocused eyes wandering between Jango and 45, looking confused and distressed.

“I’m right over here,” Said Spar from the doorway. Jango glanced up to see that his face was ashen, though the other varied from confused to worried. 99 looked particularly upset as well.

“Oh…” Said 49. Jango gave 45 a look. “Why are we… in…”

Jango looked down as 49 seemed to completely dissociate from the present. 45 looked alarmed. “He’s not aware of how much time’s passing. I guess… he thought that it’s still several hours ago when Spar was helping us move him around. He’s dazed so he can’t… tell anyone apart.”

That was definitely a bad sign but it would go away once 49’s head cleared. Hopefully.

“We’re not like you Jango, we can tell each other apart without even looking,” Said 67 quietly. Jango looked away.

“Let’s get him laid down. Since he’s coming and going from awareness I’ll call Mij up to take a look and see if he can eat anything.”

“Jango’s… room?” Said 49, making everyone jump a little. Jango let out a long sigh. At least this time, 49’s apparent timeout was shorter than some previous ones.

“You were badly hurt. The Kaminoans made a mistake, and I brought you here so you could recover,” He explained. 49’s eyes were unfocused as 45 eased him back onto the bed, but he nodded slightly. Jango let out a sigh. “Get some rest, you’re still recovering.”

49 closed his eyes, and 45 sighed, getting up and walking out of the bedroom. Jango watched him go with a small frown. Spar, surprisingly, came in for another look. Jango looked back at him. There was something in Spar’s gaze, like he was looking for something, trying to make a decision. 49, as if sensing the gaze, opened his eyes and looked back at Spar.

“What, 45?”

Spar reared back just a little, expression darkening. Jango waited for the explosion that looked imminent, but Spar just shook his head. “Nothing, just wondering if I can have your portions while you’re living cushy with Jango.”

Jango relaxed at the lack of angry correction. 45 let out a small noise that might’ve been a huff of laughter, but he didn’t answer. Jango watched as Spar rubbed the back of his neck, expression switching to something calmer. Some kind of decision had been made, in that moment, some internal struggle ended, and Jango wondered. But he didn’t ask.

\--

“-He can’t tell 02 and 45 apart. Didn’t feel like seeing if he’d be like that for everyone,” Blitz was saying to the assembled group. No one was happy with this news. Even some of the Kaminoans could tell them apart without checking their barcodes. And 45 kept his hair buzzed down as opposed to Spar’s slightly-too-long crew cut. Everything about them, the way they carried themselves, the cant of their voices, it was different. To think that a batcher couldn’t see these differences...

They didn’t want to think about it, but it was clear they all had to consider the possibility that 49 would need to be reconditioned or decommissioned. The thought of it was awful, and if Jango was forced to give one of them up to the Kaminoans, the rest be easier for the longnecks to take. There was an underlying hum of worry for their batcher, but no one would outright say it.

Blitz leaned his hip up on the next level of the the computer room, listening to the hum of his batchers’ voices as they discussed what Blitz and company had learned. He glanced around, noticing 45 looking sulky and lightly giving him a push between the shoulders. “49 was confused and he couldn’t see right. Stop being angry at him,” He said quietly. 45 looked up.

“We were in the same creche. He should be the last person to not recognize me. I’m not angry I’m…” He paused, looking away.

“Scared?” Blitz asked softly. 45 let out a long exhale, giving the slightest twitch that could be a nod. It was not an admission any of them would make lightly. 45 must’ve been _terrified_ for their batcher; not surprising, considering Blitz was too. He hadn’t felt this much fear for a brother since 99 was under review for decommission. It was that same situation all over again, except worse, because there’d been no forewarning.

“We can’t do anything but wait,” Said 45. “I hate waiting.”

“Same here,” Said Blitz, looking over the group again. He noticed Spar laying on his mat, staring silently at the ceiling. Blitz had been surprised by how gentle Spar had been to 49 when he’d been misidentified as 45, and how calm he had been acting since then. It was like he’d made peace with something, somehow.

\--

The week ticked by must to quickly for anyone’s taste. Alpha-49 started walking and talking again after the third day, able to maintain full sentences and pay attention to conversation without losing track of time, much to everyone’s relief. But there was a problem; he could not, for the life of him, tell any of his batchers apart. He’d guess, and was almost always wrong. Some of them corrected him right off the bat. Some just let him think he was right and pretend to be whomever he thought they were. If they spent too much time in a single conversation with him though, he’d recognize the ruse and become upset.

Jango was visibly worried for the boy. How would he do on the Kaminoans’ tests. Other than his inability to tell his fellow clones apart he seemed to be recovering perfectly, something confirmed by Doctor Gilamar on each daily checkup. He was bright eyed and eager to get up and moving and out of Jango’s room.

He was sitting on the couch in Jango’s room, feeling lonely. His sense of time was still messed up; if there was nothing to help him keep track of it, it could seem like hours passed in a moment, but he was doing his best not to show it. He was Fit, he was almost fully recovered. He wanted Out, damnit. Living with Jango was completely weird, and he wasn’t sure what to make of Jango’s fussing.

Beyond that. He didn’t have anything to do but sit around and worry about what the Kaminoans would test him on. He had too much time to think himself into being afraid. He pushed himself to his feet and stretched, leaning one arm against a wall so he would loosen his leg muscles.

The door to Jango’s quarters opened and he looked over, expecting his progenitor or Doctor Gilamar. Maybe one of his batchers if he was lucky.

Kaminoan.

He shot upright, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he stared at the Kaminoan. She paused to see him, blinking her luminous eyes at him.

“Alpha-49,” She said. “Where is Jango?”

He took a moment to think about it, before looking back at her, watching her posture. Had to be Taun We, he realized; she was the only Kaminoan who’d enter Jango’s space freely. “I don’t know sir. He only told me to stay here.”

“Very well,” She said. She approached him, and he tensed further, pressing his knuckles against his legs to hide the inexplicable shaking that he couldn’t stop. She stood before him, looking him over, and he wondered what she was looking for, even as he lifted his chin and looked him in the face, jaw clenched. “It appears you have recovered well from the accident that occured to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” He said through his gritted teeth.

“Hm,” Taun We seemed surprised about something, but nodded to herself, turning to leave. “Should you see Jango before I find him, inform him I am looking for him.”

“Yes sir,” He said, only relaxing when the door shut behind her. He sat back on the couch and looked down at his hands, trying to demand they stop shaking.

 -

Jango was _pissed_ when he got back and heard what’d happened. That brought a certain amount of satisfaction to the young clone. He tucked up his legs on the couch, looking at the plate of food in front of him and not interested in eating it.

“How are you feeling after all that?” Jango asked. 49 cocked a brow in his direction, considering his progen. Jango had been so solicitous all week; Protective, like he thought 49 was Boba, or something. It was… kind of nice, in a way, but at the same time confusing and frustrating. 49 had lived his whole life watching this behaviour from the outside and being jealous of it, and now that he was receiving it, it felt fake.

He was almost an adult, he’d learned to live without a buir, and Jango acting like one now, and only to him, not to 99 who would occasionally come check on him, not to Spar or 45 or… any of the others who sometimes visited him. He disliked it. Beyond that, he noticed a certain annoyance towards both Jango and himself from his batchers when JAngo fussed over him. That same jealously he’d always felt towards Boba… and sometimes 99. He cared more about his batch than Jango, and he worried that they’d abandon him if he spent much longer with Jango.

“49?”

“Hm?” He blinked, cocking his head and ignoring the twinge of pain in his neck.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” He said flatly. “Sir, I want to go practice my shooting.”

“You should keep resting, you need to get your strength back, 49.”

He opened his mouth to argue with Jango, to complain that his week was about up, that he should make sure he could do everything that he was likely to be tested on. But Jango gave him a warning look, and he remember what had happened last time he’d been mouthy to an authority and closed his mouth again, sinking into the couch.

Remembered was maybe the wrong word; 49 remembered being in the med lab, and he remembered being restrained. There was a droid… He didn’t think about it too much. Doing so made his neck hurt and his arms shake. Everything was a bit blurry up to a couple days ago. But he was better, he wanted to move.

But he wasn’t allowed, and he was too afraid of the consequences to argue. So he tucked up on the couch and quietly hoped that one of his batchers would come by soon.

 -

 

He liked it when 99 came by to visit. He could always recognize 99. He smiled at the other clone as 99 approached. “Hi 99.”

“H-hey Vod,” Said the brother warmly. He pulled himself onto the couch and sat a little ways away from 49, maintaining a polite space between them. “How are you?”

“I really wanna go practice my shooting and sparring,” 49 sulked. “But Jango won’t let me.”

“I-I’m sorry, that’s terrible,” Said 99 sympathetically. He patted 49’s arm comfortingly, and after a moment, 49 leaned into it, just a little. 99 wasn’t jealous of him getting Jango’s attention like the others when all he wanted was to be out of here and back with them. “I h-heard Taun We came by today. How’d it go?”

“She was looking for Jango,” Said 49, clenching his fists at the memory. “It was fine.”

99 nodded, sitting peacefully. 49 tapped his fingers on his hand, then blinked down at 99. “Arn’t you guys supposed to travelling in groups of five or more? Why are you here alone?”

“Oh I-I uh,” 99 looked awkward. “No one noticed when I slipped out… I think they forgot about me.”

“Ah…” 49 smiled slightly at that, considering doing the same, but then he imagined Jango being angry and leaving him to the Kaminoans… He sighed, crossing his legs, foot jumping. He dropped his head. “I want to go practice.”

“S-So you said,” 99 put a hand on his shoulder. “M-Maybe I can see if anyone wants t-to come by and t-take you to practice with them?”

49 brightened at the suggestion. “Would you? That’d be great!”

99 nodded and smiled, getting to his feet. “I-I’ll be right back.”

49 watched him go, hoping 99 would succeed at his mission. He closed his eyes to wait. At some point, he wasn’t exactly sure how long it’d been, the door to Jango’s room opened again and in walked Doctor Gilamar with a couple of his cadet students. 49 let out a long sigh. “Hello Doc.”

“49, how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” He said, standing up pulling off his shirt so the doctor could check the bandages around his neck. Gilamar smiled wryly at him.

“Anything of note?”

“I want to do something, Jango won’t let me.””

“Mmm, he’s worried about you,” said the doctor, putting a hand to 49’s chest. “Have a seat so I can check your vitals.”

“If everything clears can I go target shooting?” 49 asked. “I’m so bored, there’s nothing to do in here. The Kaminoans are gonna wanna test me, I need to be sure I’m in shape!”

Gilamar let out a long sigh. “Let me do my exam first.”

Well, that was a No. Sulkily, 49 sat, putting his arms on the table so Gilamar’s little assistants could tend his chafed wrists. He looked at them, trying to pick apart their differences in his head so it’d be easier to tell his batchers apart. He wanted to be over that problem. It was weird and wrong and scary to not be able to recognize his own vod’e. He noticed something very different about the one on his left, shifting as Gilamar tried to use a stethoscope to listen to his heart.

“You have blue eyes.”

The other cadet stiffened, looking up at 49 with a scowl. “Yes, I do.”

“Saph…” Said Gilamar. “Relax. 49 isn’t Spar.”

Saph wrinkled his nose, looking down. 49 looked at the cadet and wondered about him. “Do the Kaminoans know about it?” He asked.

“Yes they do, and no, I’m not going to get reprocessed for it,” grunted the trainee medic.

“Good…” Said 49 with a long sigh. “It sucks. You should make sure they don’t try and use you to train a new researcher… who doesn’t know better.”

The Trainee paused, looking at 49, then up at Gilamar, who looked quite sad. Saph looked back to 49, his grumpy expression replaced with a tinge of embarrassment. “Thanks. Yeah, that’s… really good advice. Thanks for looking out for me.”


	5. Solidarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More about 49's recovery, and the way his batch clans together for his sake and their own.

“Hey Alphas!”

17 turned around and crossed his arms to glare at the two Null-class who dared to invade their space. Around him, he could sense his fellows tensing. The commando classes did not like each other, and only tended to maintain truce by avoiding each other. “The fuck do you want, Ordo?”

“Relax,” Said Fi, holding up both hands briefly. “We’ll leave in a sec. Just wanted to know if the rumor we heard that the Kaminiise tried to recondition one of yours was true.”

17 growled at them. “Yes. Now get lost.”

“Wait a moment now,” Said Ordo, stepping closer and glancing up and down the hall, gesturing to Fi who took a few steps away, obviously keeping watch. “Listen, they’re planning on doing tests on him to decide if they have to finish the job, right?”

“Yeah,” 17 said, a bit curious. Ordo nodded, glancing around again, then leaning in to speak softly.

“Look, we’d have that happen to our batch a lot. Sometimes for Osik reasons. If you’re not sure he can make it but he’ll be fine anyway after a bit longer, there’s ways to make sure he gets a good enough score you don’t have to worry.”

17 raised a brow, glancing at 60 and 04 who looked quite curious. 17 turned back to Ordo, leaning in to listen. “Tell me.”

“We’d just switch out our shirts. I did a test for Jaing once. The Kaminiise can’t tell. Fek, Buir didn’t notice until after, he was so distracted.”

60 blinked, giving Ordo a disbelieving look. “What if they do notice?”

“They never have,” Ordo said with an angry sort of smile. “And if Jango noticed, would he stop you?”

“Jango wouldn’t notice,” Snorted 04 disparagingly. “He still checks our uniforms to be sure he has the right number when talking to us.”

17 considered it, looking at Ordo for a long moment. “That’s real dangerous to admit that you’ve done that…”

“What, you’re gonna tattle?” Ordo snorted. “Our batch used to be as big as yours, Alpha-17. Do you wanna find out what it means when they decide to start picking you apart until there’s only a literal handful left?”

17 nodded, stepping back. “Thanks for the advice. We’ll… consider it. Now get lost.”

Ordo nodded once, turning away and heading back the way he’s come, Fi trailing along behind. 17 glanced over his group, considering the idea…

\--

 

“Oh thank Manda!” Exclaimed 49 as he dropped down onto his bedmat. Alpha-17, having just walked with 49 and Jango to bring him to the others, grinned at his batch’s surprised and pleased expressions. Jango was watching with a mixture of amusement and concern, but Mij had cleared the boy, and had told Jango that keeping him isolated would just lead to problems. Beside 49, Spar grinned, prodding at his newly released batcher’s chest. 

“Finally free huh? How you doing?”

49 looked up at Spar, and there was a momentary flicker across his face. There and gone so quickly that 17  wondered if he’d imagined it. Then 49 was shrugging happily. “Eeeh, I’m fine, Vod. So damn ready to get out to the practice range though. Bet I can still outshoot all of you with my eyes closer.”

“Tch, cocky,” Said Blitz, but he was smiling slightly. “You’re not gonna miss Jango’s big comfy bed?”

“Oh hell no, who wants to live with Jango?” Snorted 49. Jango stepped back from the doorway, and 17 thought he looked hurt.  _ Interesting _ . Oblivious to it all, 49 kept talking. “I was so damn bored in there anyway. It’s like the ultimate No Fun Zone.”

There was some laughter at that. Jango shook his head with a wry smile before giving 17 a slight nod and moving to leave. “Kaminoans are giving him three more days before they want to do their reviews,” he said, 17 grunted in response.

“Hey 49!” Said 13. “Do you know who I am?”

49 paused, looking annoyed at 13. “My batcher, unfortunately.”

Everyone laughed uproariously at that, even 13, spreading her hands as if defeated. 17 chuckled, relieved to see that their vod was back to normal. He checked to be sure that Jango was well out of earshot before stepping into the room, gesturing for Muzzle and Stec to keep watch. They nodded, stepping outside the door.

“Alright, listen up,” he said. The room fell silent, everyone looking at him expectantly. 49 shifted around to laying on his mat with his head propped up on his arms, watching 17. “49, the Kaminoans are doing their tests to make sure you’re still to standard in three days.”

“Plenty of time,” said 49 flippantly, but 17 saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. “I’ll be shooting the ears off mice by this afternoon.”

“Right, right,” 17 waved it off. “We don’t know what all the tests will be, but I figure they won’t be too different from any of the usual progress checks. If you want… it was suggested to me that another one of us could easily pass for you and do the test.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Said 49, pushing himself up, brow furrowed. 17 spread his hands.

“All that we’d have to do is put on some fake bandages and wear the shirt with your serial number. It’d be easy, no one but a vod would be able to tell.”

“Seems risky, 17,” said 45. “What if they’re doing these tests specifically to force him to fail and whomever does the test fails because of that?”

“Then we come clean and that proves their test is crap,” said 17.

“Ooor they decide we’re all below standard!” Argued Spar.

“Why would they do that though, don’t they want us to succeed?” Asked 53, looking concerned.

“They’re Kaminiise, they’d dig in their heels and cull us all before admitting they did wrong. The fact that they called all this an accident in the first place is karking suspicious!” Opined 88.

Their voices rose into something of a roar, and 17 gave them a couple minutes, looking around. 99 was standing off to the side, looking worried, watching them. 17 noticed Spar with with an odd expression; yet another in the recent collection of him being much-too-calm for a situation. And 49 was now sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees, with his hands tucked up around his head. 17 frowned at the sight, suddenly worried.

“That’s enough!” He roared, trying to be heard over his batchers. A few tried to quiet down, but there was just too much noise. He looked around until he spotted a lightswitch. Inspired, he turned off the lights. The room went fell into startled silence. He turned the lights back on. “That’s enough. It was a suggestion. 49, thoughts?”

49 lifted his head from where he’d hidden it between his hands, looking around to see everyone looking at him. “I’m not sick and weak. I can do it myself.”

17 closed his eyes and took a deep breath, deciding not to make a comment on the slight tremor in his batcher’s voice, and nodded. “Alright then. That’s decided.”

49 opened his mouth as if to say something, then glanced around a moment, and dropped his head back into his hands as if tired. “Hey 66,” He said, without lifting his head from his hands.

“What?” Asked Muzzle from the doorway. 49 looked up quickly at his voice and grinned slightly when he made eye contact with Muzzle.

“Target contest. You and me, right now.”

Muzzle snorted at that. “Aight, Aight. Sounds fun. We’ll need three more to come with though. That’s the rule. Groups of Five or more.”

“Huh,” said 49, glancing around at the whole batch.

“Well, I’ll go,” Said Spar. 49 blinked at him and nodded once, looking around for others. 17 watched as two more of his batch happily indicated they wanted to go shooting and joined the group as it headed out. Something was still slightly off, but he couldn’t figure out what.

 

49 was doing his best not to prance, but he was so eager to get out and do something again! He took mental stock of his four batchers though, being absolutely sure to keep an eye on Muzzle until 66 was at the head of their lineup. Okay. Muzzle in the lead. Good. The others…

His eyes flicked over them trying to pick out any differences. He couldn’t see anything though and sighed internally. Well, calling everyone “Vod” would work out just fine, he supposed. And change to how he reacted to individual batchers he could just chalk up to ‘that brain damages Doc Gilamar was talking about’ and he’d be fine. The Vod behind him slidled a bit closer and he gave them a weird look over his shoulder. “What?”

“What happens if you can’t shoot?” Asked the brother, eyes narrow. 49 looked away.

“I’m the best at shooting, that’s impossible.”

“49… it’s a possibility.”

He looked straight ahead to ignore his vod. How dare he suggest something like that. But his batcher persisted.

“If the worst should happen…” a hand was placed on his shoulder and the vod leaned in to whisper in his ear. Then one of the others turned around and gave them an odd look.

“What are you doing 02?”

Spar’s hand dropped off 49’s shoulder and he stepped back. “Nothing, just talking to 49.”

49 glanced over his shoulder again, giving Spar a quizzical and annoyed look. He was going to just fine on his tests. He had to. There was no alternative.

As soon as they were at the target range, 49 went over to the rack of weapons and picked up one of the heavy long-bore sniper rifles. It was a magnificent gun that took a deft hand, and while most of the Alphas could take a half-decent shot with one, 49 had once used one of these to shoot a datadisk-sized target at a thousand yards. He could mentally calculate the effects of atmospheric refraction on his laser blasts very quickly, and his hands were never unsteady. Even Muzzle, named for his shooting prowess, could not match 49’s sniping.

The blaster felt heavier than usual in his hands, and he tried to convince himself that it was simply due to having had a few days of doing nothing. He set it up, uncomfortably aware that his batchers were watching him intently, instead of breaking off for their own target practice. His fingers trembled a little and he growled softly to himself. A sniper’s hands did not shake.

He checked the charge pack and made sure the gun was well set up on the floor before laying down, pressing the butt heavily to his shoulder and sighted down the scope to check his posture. He hummed softly, then lifted his head. “Someone turn on the targets for me.”

Muzzle- he was pretty sure it was Muzzle; he’d lost track- walked over to a console and turned on the program. A Target popped up a hundred yards away. 49 adjusted the scope sight and took aim, inhale… exhale and squeeze the trigger…

Hit. The target retracted away and another one popped up. He tracked to it, and fired again. Hit. Again and again he shot at the targets that popped up along the range, getting steadily further and further away. And then…

The 425-yard target retracted before he had time to line up the shot. He swore, managing to get his aim at the 430-yard target and hit it before it retracted, but it was a sloppy shot, and he was sure he’d only hit the edge. He kept up his shooting, trying not to get agitated, but once the sim was over, he looked up at his score.

His heart sank in his chest when he saw how low he’d scored, and he picked up the rifle with shaking hands. He was going to fail his test. He was going to fail and they were going to strap him back down to the table and that droid was going to- going to-

“Well, you’re a bit rusty,” Said one of his batchers, looking at the score. “Still damn good though, gotta say.”

He set the gun back on it’s rack and looked over at the lot of them. No one was smirking or laughing at him, no one teasing him about having a bad run. That was the worst part, because if they were he’d know it wasn’t that bad, but everyone’s face was carefully composed. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling his arms shudder.

“49?” Asked Maybe-Muzzle warily. He realized he’d been standing stock still for two long and shook his head.

“What… what sim was that?”

“Uhhh, just one of the harder practice sims,” Said Maybe-Muzzle. “Really, your score’s good, it’s way better than a lot of the batch. Look at the other scores on here.”

He jerked his head at the screen and 49 approached, looking. This run had placed him just above 13’s best sniping run to date… which was… “M-Vod… Lucky’s a shit sniper.”

“Hey!” Squawked one of the others indignantly. Oh, she was one of the group here. Good to know, he supposed.

“Yeah well, she’s at standard, and that means so are you,” Said Maybe-Muzzle with a shrug. “Sides, all that crap the kaminoans put in you ain’t fully worn off yet, yeah?”

49 swallowed, looking at the target range.  _ I’m not supposed to be an ‘at standard’ sniper, though…. I’m suppose to be Exceeds. _

He picked up a DC-15s and moved away down the range to do more simple targets, trying to tune out his batchers and the fear that was trying to dig claws into him. He wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t…

“Hey 49,” Said one of his batchers. He turned to look at them and glowered, having lost track of who was where.

“What?”

“I can do your tests for you if you want. I’ll even cut my hair.”

He looked away. “And if I don’t ever improve?”

“You only gotta pass the test. After that… well… What I was trying to talk to you about before.”

Ah, 02 apparently. “Spar, there’s no options except pass or be reprocessed.”

“We’re rats in a maze, 49, but we might be able to kick a hole in the wall,” Said Spar, edging closer. 49 looked at him in confusion. “D- Someone once offered to- Well…” He hesitated a long moment, looking over as one of the others came to see what they were doing.

49 watched him edge away, then glanced at whomever it was who had come over to investigate them. “I think he’s cracking.”

“Mmm, Don’t you go the same way now,” they said dryly. “So, we having that contest you asked for or not?”

“... Yeah sure Muzzle, why not? You get to win for once.”

A-66 snickered, giving 49 a light shove. “Exactly, I’m looking forward to that.”

49 smiled slightly as 66 checked over his blaster, feeling a touch better. It wasn’t much trash talk, but it made things feel a bit more normal.

\---

 

“Doctor Gilamar, I assure you that I am fully capable of performing the physical examination on Alpha-49,” Said Vara Kel crossly. The past week had been full of humiliations for her as it was. She was disgraced, though certainly not as much as her former student. Still, she was determined to see this whole business though. And that meant overseeing Alpha-49’s fitness tests.

But the damned human doctor that Jango had picked out was standing in her way with a snarl on his face and murder in his eyes. “No. I’ll be doing any and all tests. You’re welcome to tell me which you want done and how you want them done, but I  _ will _ be performing them. That is non-negotiable.”

Behind him, Alpha-49 stood silent and still, alongside another of the Alpha clones, who was watching Vara Kel with an intense gaze. She considered her options, annoyed by all of it, but in the end, she did not like the way Gilamar was in his armor with his hand resting over a knife. “Very well. Alpha-49, strip down and lay on the examination table.”

The clone didn’t move for a long moment and Vara Kel was about to restate the order, a bad sign already, but then he was peeling himself out of his clothes and pulling himself onto the table, movements careful and precise. She let out a low sigh of relief at that, and began explaining the procedures she wanted to Doctor Gilamar. She kept a close eye on the other Alpha clone, who was standing near enough to crowd the human doctor, though he moved whenever he seemed to be in Gilamar’s way. She rolled her eyes, but continued on with wanting scans of Alpha-49’s brain activity and healing.

It was good to see that his physical state was still perfect, any injuries from the incident healed over and invisible, but for minor scarring around the ankles, wrists, and a minor pinprick scar in the side of the neck. His brain function seemed normal, though his heart rate was slightly elevated. She made a note her file, nodding slightly. “It seems Alpha-49 has fully recovered physically from the incident. I hope to see that his scores have not suffered at all.”

“They might have,” Said Doctor Gilamar. “What happened will have affected him, Doctor Kel. He will take a while to get back up to his previous skill level.”

“Hm,” Doctor Kel frowned at that, looking at Alpha-49. His eyes flicked up at her before turning away. He had not said a word during the entirety of the procedures, and he was uncommonly still and passive. They were common traits of reconditioned clones, and she wondered a moment if the aborted procedure had taken effect. “Are you capable of speech, Alpha-49?”

He twitched, looking up at her and nodding once, clearing his throat quietly. “Yes… I am.”

“Good,” She said, making a note in her file. No selective mutism. Very good. She approached the clone and looked him over as he started pulling on his clothing, looking for any defects. Her eyes traveled over his neck and she was about to make another note when she saw something slightly odd. “Hmm… two-toned hair…”

His head jerked up and he looked around at her, eyes going wide. The other Alpha clone turned his head to look at Doctor Gilamar, who was pursing his lips. “Pardon?”

“It appears that some of Alpha-49’s hair is discoloring to white,” She commented, making a note. “Very peculiar. None of the Alpha class ever expressed any mutations off the color norms before this.”

“It’s not a mutation,” Said Gilamar, scowling. “Extreme stress can kill the pigmentation-producing cells in hair follicles. It’s not unheard of for humans to start going grey after a traumatic event.”

“Are you suggesting that Alpha-49 is traumatized, Doctor Gilamar?” Asked Vara Kel, a frown crossing her own features at the idea. That was unacceptable, especially in a commando. Alpha-49 finished dressing and stepped off to the side, folding his arms behind his back. “If that is the case, he must be reconditioned.”

“He doesn’t remember anything that happened,” Said the other Alpha class abruptly. “So even if his hair’s turning he doesn’t remember the trauma because he’s already reconditioned!”

Vara Kel turned to glare at this other Alpha clone, realizing he was missing the serial number stitched into his shirt. “What is your number, unit?”

The clone stared at her, then grinned ever so slightly without speaking. Vara Kel was about to say something more when Gilamar cut her off. “His hair won’t turn back just because he’s recovered, Vara Kel. The pigmentation cells are dead. It’s a sign that he _ was _ under extreme duress, not that he still is. It is irrelevant to these tests.”

“Hmm, We’ll run him through a few sims and see how he responds to combat scenarios,” She said, typing in her datapad. “It was already part of the plan, but we’ll do a close-in scenario and see what happens.”

Doctor Gilamar nodded curtly, gesturing at 49 and the other clone. They both walked out. Vara Kel let out an annoyed sound. “Which is that other clone?”

“Hmm? Oh it’s Spar,” Said Gilamar, scratching his jaw.

“What is his serial number?” She asked, typing into her holopad to make a note that that unit also be put under review. Dr Gilamar frowned thoughtfully.

“You know… I’m not sure, I can never keep all the serial numbers straight. I just know that he’s named Spar.”

“He ought to have his serial number on his clothing, and it is unacceptable that he does not,” She said, quite annoyed. Doctor Gilamar let out a thoughtful hum. 

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. I never think about it I guess. Well, I’ll tell him when I see him next,” Said the Mandalorian doctor with a shrug. Vara Kel gnashed her teeth internally at the stupidity of humans, but held her tongue.

\---

 

Spar grunted at the punch to the chest that sent him sprawling to the floor. He rolled over and took a defensive stance as Muzzle and 17 advanced on him.

“What the fuck are you doing, pissing off the Kaminoan who is deciding whether or not 49 gets to live or not?” Snarled 17. Spar stayed low, keeping his hackles up.

“Easy, making her pissed at me. 49’s looking like an absolute angel.”

“You said you were going to take his damned place for the tests if he asked, not get in the way,” Growled Muzzle. Spar found himself backed into the corner and crossed his arms defensively.

“Well I can’t now, she noticed his grey hair. I can’t exactly pretend to be him now. So next best option, piss her off and get her fixated on how terrible I am and how good 49 is.”

“Oh, so they’ll recondition you instead. How noble of you,” 17 scoffed. Spar shook his head.

“She doesn’t karking well know who I am,” He snorted, scrubbing a hand over his face to try and avert a flash memory that was trying to come to the surface. “She asked for my serial number and I didn’t tell her. Mij says she asked him who I was and she doesn’t recognize my name either.”

“You’re an idiot,” Said Muzzle. “You think she won’t figure it out?”

Spar bared his teeth at his two batchers, trying to edge out of the corner they’d trapped him in. “She’s too busy trying to salvage her reputation. If she gets in a huff about me being disrespectful even we can get away with “No faith in a doctor who made such a mistake.” Fek, even the lower-class Kaminii are sneering at her. She’s a nobody now. We could spit in her face without repercussions.”

“Forgive me if I suggest not spitting in a Kaminii face,” Growled Muzzle, prodding Spar in the chest. “Do not fuck this up for 49.”

Spar looked at Muzzle, then 17, then at the ground, thinking about his private plans that could maybe involve 49. “Don’t worry. I don’t want them reprocessing him, same as all of us.”

“Then act like it,” Growled 17. Spar huffed, glaring.

“We don’t need them realizing that we’ll all behave nice if they threaten our vod’e. One, they’ll think it means we’re not independent enough for them, and two, they’ll just decide to keep all of us under threat for good behaviour.”

“Good point,” Said Muzzle in a droll tone. “We certainly  _ haven’t _ been under that kind of threat our entire lives, it’d be terrible to have it happen now.”

\---

 

49 was afraid, but he remained focused on the targets. Inhale, exhale… pull the trigger. Aim, inhale, exhale, pull the trigger. The sound of the gun firing, the recoil were nothing but part of the motion. There was nothing but taking the shot.

Everything else was white noise to tune out.

He swept the barrel, waiting for the next target, but nothing came. He waited, still. It was a test, there would be more targets, he had to do better, he would do better!

A hand fell on his shoulder and he jumped, looking around. It was… one of the other Alphas. Blitz maybe? 17? One of the batch’s leaderly types. There was that presence to them. But they were all really different from each other, he knew that… 17 was… stern, and Muzzle was fair… Fordo was sly and cunning and…

He had no idea which of his batchers this was. He let out a long sigh and inclined his head at them. “It’s over?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s over, c’mon, they’re looking over your results now.

He nodded quietly. “So… what if I-”

“You did good, 49.”

“...Okay.”

Jango was there, speaking with Doctor Gilamar, both in full armor. That made him feel a bit better. If they were both there, it’d be a lot harder for the Kaminoans to…

He stopped the thought and stepped slightly closer to his batcher. Whoever it was allowed it a moment before shifting away to an appropriate distance. 49 let out a low sigh, turning his gaze on the conferring Kaminoans. Both Female, both in the medical uniforms… One was Vara Kel, probably the one who looked like a chastened child. The other one…

“How’d I do?” He asked quietly, edging up to Jango and Gilamar. Gilamar gave him a warm smile, and Jango sighed. 

“Your scores were good 49, just… lower than they’d been before.”

“Oh…” He could feel himself hunching up at that, throat going dry. He could cry… but the fear of what would happen if he broke down emotionally...

Jango walked over to the two Kaminoans, and crossed his arms impatiently. Finally, the higher ranked Kaminoan moved towards a console.

“While Alpha 49’s scores have all worsened,” Said the one Kaminoan slowly, distastefully, side-eying the other. “They are within acceptable parameters. Should we complete the reconditioning, I think it likely that he would fall behind further, and we would certainly have to decommission him. As is, there is evidence that he may continue to improve if left as is, since I am aware that he was struggling heavily merely two days ago on a similar simulation. He has markedly improved since then. So stated… we will be testing him again at the end of the month alongside the other Alphas to ensure he continues to improve.”

49 let out a long sigh of relief. A Month… he had a month to try and figure stuff out. He could work with that. He glanced over to his batcher, who gave the slightest nod before turning his attention to Jango, who gave him a faint smile. Then his progen turned back to Gilamar.

He was going to be okay.

\---

 

“Hey Doc…”

Mij Gilamar turned around and nodded once to the clone trooper standing across the room. “Spar. What can I do for you?”

Spar looked at the wall for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m gonna take you up on your offer. Not right now… but once our training’s done. That way I’ll have the best chance.”

Mij set down his tools and approached the young man, putting hands on his shoulders. “Okay. Does anyone else want to-”

“No! No… I tried with 49 though.”

Mij heaved a long sigh. “Alright. I’ll start setting things up. You’ll all be about done your training in a few months.”

“Yeah, s’why I’m telling you now,” Spar said. He let out a sigh, looking at the Mandalorian. “Doc… I’m not bad for doing this right?”

“Spar, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be free.”


	6. Independance

“Come on Vod’ika, hit me!” A-20 taunted the CC-class cadet in front of him. 2224 was the Kaminoans’ favorite commander-to-be and a prideful little thing. Alpha-66 watched in amusement as his batcher let the cadet in close before sucker punching him in the jaw. “Oh, too slow.”

“Be nice,” Muzzle admonished with no real heat. Sometimes their smaller (Same aged, yet younger; Odd to think of, somehow) vod’e needed to be put in their place, and ~~Kote~~ Cody could be a bit too full of himself. It was good for him. 20 was no hand-to-hand specialist, but he was bigger than the CC cadet, and he was happily using his added reach to harass the poor kid into submission.

Muzzle saw Cody shift contemplatively, the slight adjustment in stance and wondered if 20 caught it. When the next blow of the match was Cody’s knee to 20’s groin, making his batcher fall over with a pained wheeze, Muzzle could only laugh.

A scream from across the room brought the match to a halt. All three of them glanced over to see a wide-eyed blond CC cadet, a year or so younger than Cody, staring at 45, who was stumbling back defensively, one arm hanging at his side, bone visibly broken. Jango moved in to make sure the kid had broken off his attack, and it seemed like he was shocked at what he’d done.

“Good hit Rex,” Jango said, nodding once in approval. “Take 45 to medbay and make sure he gets fixed up.”

The cadet nodded, looking to 45, who was a bit pale, but gritting his teeth against the pain of his broken limb. Muzzle shook his head in disbelief, wondering how all that had happened. Jango picked up Rex’s discarded helmet and considered it for a long moment, before setting it on a bench and turning to the other groups. “Well? No one died, back to your sparring.”

 

“So what happened there?” Havoc asked casually. 45 snorted softly, watching the near-adult medic-in-training wrap his arm, a bit spaced out on painkillers.

“Don’t taunt the CCs about trainer Morghan, they really don’t like the memory of that guy.”

“Noted. Jango gave the kid Jaig eyes for snapping your arm, you know.”

“Well, guess it’s flattering to know kicking my ass is worthy of Jaig eyes,” 45 snorted. There’d be another reason for it, one Jango couldn’t publicly acknowledge, he assumed. Jango had shown a bit of favoritism to the mutie CC cadet that the Kaminoans still refused to call a CC-unit due to his ‘imperfections.’ No one knew why Jango was concerned for the kid, but they had a few guesses involving Trainer Morghan’s disappearance.

They all knew Jango’s favor would wear off soon enough though. It always did.

\---

“Hey how do you confuse a Kaminoan?”

Nice groaned in disgust, not even deigning to glance at his batcher. “49 I swear I will kill you if you are telling me another shitty joke.”

“So everyone keeps saying, and yet here I am. So, how do you confuse a Kaminoan?”

“Uuuugh!”

“Ask them how they’re feeling.”

Nice snorted despite himself. “Okay, wow, that’s terrible. I dare you to tell it to Vau.”

“He thought it was funny, actually,” Said 49 scratching the back of his head. His hair was growing back in after he’d shaved it all off due to a Kaminoan remarking negatively upon his grey temples. Nice turned to look at his batcher in disbelief, and 49 shrugged. “No I didn’t tell it to him, I overheard Trainer Bralor tell it to him.”

“I think he’s just scared of her so he tries to humor her,” Nice scoffed.

“I dare _you_ to tell him that,” 49 retorted.

“Do I look like I want to be Mirdalan’s next meal, _Shebs’palon_?”

\----

“You know I think Jango just wanted to not do one of his bounties and decided to let us do it. Not like we can keep the credits or anything,” Mused A-45, reclined against a rock, feet elevated on Blitz’s lap. Havoc, standing guard, snickered.

“Hey, I’m not at all sad that we got to get off Kamino and see the universe a bit. Besides, you got a name outta the mission, so why are you complaining, _Colt?_ ”

45, Colt, grinned back. “Who said I was complaining?” He shifted slightly, Blitz grumbling in mild protest when Colt’s boot accidently knocked him in a tender spot. “Sorry. Plus, now we’re actually seeing other worlds!”

They were all wearing very unusual-to-them clothing. Heavy leather and plate armor, nothing like the gear clones were supposed to wear. Them having been sent on an offworld mission with such minimal oversight had been a huge risk on the Kaminoans’ part, but the three of them were feeling content and comfortable, having successfully slit the throats Jango told them to slit, and not been caught in the process. Their Progen had said he’d meet up with them shortly, after finishing his own work.

“I can’t believe he takes Boba on missions like this,” Mused Blitz. “Seeing those Nat-born kids… It’s crazy. Some of them are in their double digits and they are so innocent and helpless. I think Boba’s been in more combat scenarios than any of our four year olds too…”

“Yeah well, Boba’s being raised like a Mando and we were raised… Sort of like Mandos,” Muttered Colt, tucking his hands behind his head. “Not much point thinking about it Vod’e.”

“Mmm,” Said Havoc. Colt let his head fall back for a powernap, trusting Havoc to wake him and Blitz if something went down.

At some point, Havoc did speak softly to rouse them, but only because Jango had appeared, walking up in his full armor with a serious-looking Boba at his side. The lad, now eight years old, had a steady hand and the eye of a trained killer. Jango couldn’t have been prouder, and the Alphas more irritated by the little shit.

“Good work you three,” Said Jango cheerfully, as if unaware how all three young men shot to their feet and grinned at the praise. “That’s a mission completed successfully and no panic in the streets. By the time the bodies are discovered we’ll be long gone.”

“Any chance we can learn why we had to do this mission?” Asked Blitz eagerly. Jango hesitated, then gave a small shrug.

“The clone army is still a secret project, we don’t want any future enemies of the republic finding out about you guys until the army is ready to deploy. Someone on Kamino was selling information off world.”

The three clones exchanged glances, then looked to Jango curiously. Colt spoke up. “Do you know who it was?”

“Yes, they’ve been dealt with,” Jango said, growling. “It was… Morghan.”

“Ah so that’s why he vanished…” Mused Colt, rubbing his arm. “I thought it had something to do with that cadet who-”

“No comment,” Said Jango, lip curling. “Don’t go any further with your questions, 45.”

“Yessir,” He said. “And it’s Colt, now.”

Jango paused, looking slightly amused. “Colt? How’d you get that name between six hours ago and now.”

“Well uh… I was keeping watch and a couple civilians were coming our way when Blitz and Havoc were trying to hide a body so I went to distract them. I spun a story about being a trader’s son and being lost and could they please show me where to find the shipping port…”

Jango chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “And where does ‘Colt’ come into play?”

“Well uh.. One of them, she called me… Coltish. Said I’d never heard the word before and she… gave me a very in depth explanation…” The newly-named Colt flushed slightly, thinking about the funny old lady who’d told him he reminded her of her own descendants; She’d been so nice. Their Progen scrubbed a hand over his face.

“You… got friendly with the locals.”

“Well, I was apparently as eager and energetic as a-”

“Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there,” Said Jango, covering Boba’s ears. Only then did the three young commandos realize what Jango _thought_ was being implied. Colt looked away, refusing to make eye contact with either batcher for fear of bursting out laughing.

\---

 

“Was wondering if you could do me a favor, Jango,” Mij Gilamar said, tidying around his medbay.

“Sure, most likely. What do you need?” Asked Jango.

“I know that you don’t want us having contact with the outside world…” Said Mij. “But one of my wife’s relatives managed to get in contact me via comms, and were asking for my help. I was wondering if you could deliver a package to them for me.”

“Uuuh, sure can,” Said Jango. “But what’s in the package?”

“Eeh, some of my weapons and some pieces of armor. A lot of it was… well, hers.” Mij let out a long sigh. “But they’re her family too, and they need it.”

“Alright,” Said Jango. “I’ll do it.”

“They don’t even need to know it’s you delivering, just drop the crate off at a warehouse, I’ll give you the coordinates.”

“Sure thing Mij,” Jango took a holopad and looked at the location. “I can do the drop next mission I take. Boba’s staying here this time anyway.”

“Thank’s Jango, it means a lot to me.”

 

Jango frowned at the package he was delivering. There was something… off about it. But he loaded it up into Slave-1’s cargo hold and got himself under weigh. He had promised to drop it off, and drop it off he would. He steered the ship away from Tipoca city and up through the atmosphere until he was far enough from the planet to hit hyperspace.

He had been planning on a nap before the ship left hyper, but he found himself ill at ease for whatever reason, and spent some time trying to analyze why. Such a feeling had saved his life before; if something was wrong, best he figure it out.

Mij’s expression when he’d asked Jango for the favor had been… oddly tight. Surely Mij wouldn’t have rigged something to hurt Jango, would he? Jango frowned, quite sure that Gilamar would not but… well he was a paranoid old bastard and that’s why he was still alive. So he stood up and went looking for a scanner to  see what it’d pick up in the package.

He nearly had a heart attack when it detected life signs. Jango immediately went for a pry bar and opened the crate, pausing at the sight of one of his clones, wearing a breather mask that was attached to a canister of knockout gases. He took in the sight, mentally thinking through all the ways he could kill Mij as he took in the scene. The clone was an adult… so it had to be one of his Alphas or a Null or Omega. He checked for a pulse, finding it there but settled, whatever Mij had gassed him with keeping him peaceful. Then… A flimsi note, tucked into the clone’s hand. Jango took it and unfolded it to read.

_Waro,_

_Thank you for helping me. I know this young man looks like Jango, it’s a long story and it’s safer for myself, the young man, and Jango that you don’t learn why. I don’t think you’d be able to guess right anyway, but keep your head down._

_I’m sure Spar will introduce himself once the gas wears off, but let me give you the basic details: As written, his name is Spar. He has no last name and no family. He was raised to be a human weapon, but he wants freedom. He’s a well trained warrior and very smart and adaptable, but his social skills are rough. He’s suffering from some split personality due to how he was treated, and he can sometimes think he’s a different person, but he’s no more dangerous than your average mando. Beyond that, he speaks mando’a fluently and was raised on a modified version of the resol’nare._

_Just a warning he needs a lot more calories than the average human, but he’ll make up for his extra needs by how useful he is. I know you promised to find whomever it is I’m smuggling to you work, but I just wanted to make sure you understood. If he decides to tell you more that’s on him. I’ve given him some credits and clothing to get himself started, but any help finding him work will be appreciated._

_I owe you for this,_

_Thank you,_

_Mij._

Jango almost tore the note up, instead he took a long breath and looked over Spar, sleeping peacefully in the crate. He could slit the boy’s throat, Gilamar wouldn’t know. None of the other Alphas would know. But…

Jango sighed, tucking the note back into Spar’s hand and sitting on the edge of the crate, burying his face in his hands. This wasn’t the first time he’d been faced with a clone deserting. The last one had been a year ago. A Man that Tyranus had asked him to kill, that Jango hadn’t even realized was a clone until he’d fatally wounded his target. An adult, like Spar, so the man… Freeman had to have been one of the test classes, though he’d been no Alpha.

 _Freeman_ . He’d found a wife, and he’d sired a child. _The Kaminoans claimed his clones were sterile._ He’d wanted nothing more than to live as he chose, instead of being a pawn in the grand army for the republic. Jango had killed him for being a threat to the secrecy of the project. He’d never been a threat, only wanting to live as, well, a free man.

Jango had left money aside for the child that shared half of his DNA.

A curse escaped the bounty hunter’s lips and he sealed the crate, hiding Spar, and he stormed back up to the cockpit, slamming his hands on the console. _Damnit all_ . He wasn’t attached to these imperfect copies of himself. He _couldn’t_ be. There was nothing he could do for them. He had been a fool and a madman to accept this job. There was nothing but to raise his clones quick and cunning, and to prevent himself from caring too much about them.

He wasn’t bringing Spar back to Kamino to be euthanized though. And he wasn’t going to kill him for wanting to escape the world Jango had allowed him to be born to. _Damn Gilamar to hell._

Jango let out a long sigh, nearly pulling his hair out as he tried to decide what to do next.

 

Spar woke up. He blinked, scrubbing a hand over his face, pulling himself out of the crate Doctor Gilamar had laid him down in. The mask was off his face so…. He had to have been dropped off? He looked around, finding himself in a smaller storage area. Maybe Mij’s friends had left him here to recover?

A nagging feeling told him he was wrong., so he carefully got up and looked around. He could hear engines… the space was small and cramped. A Ship? Oddly shaped… Wait.

He was one Slave-1. Jango had woken him up? Oh no.

He considered sneaking up on the progen and just killing him. Better than what would happen if Jango was planning on handing him back to the Kaminoans. He clambered up the ladder out of the storage bay and found Jango sitting in the pilot’s chair, facing away from the viewscreen, staring Spar down. “Eehh… interesting way to steer a ship sir.”

“We’re in hyperspace, I don’t have to pay attention,” Jango said, looking Spar up and down. “Explain yourself.”

“Explain what?” Snarled Spar. “That I don’t want to be a slave? Chained to some concept I’ve never actually experienced. What is the Republic? Who are the Jedi? If they’re so good then why the hell did they order a slave army!?”

“So you’ll just abandon your family, then,” Said Jango flatly, Spar curled his lip in disdain.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were that important to you,” He hesitated a moment, afraid of his own daring. “ _Father_.”

Jango flinched. The chair turned away from Spar, but Jango twisted to keep his eyes on his clone. Spar bared his teeth with some satisfaction as Jango glared at him. “Do not call me that.”

“Sorry, I suppose it’s not the appropriate title for you, _Dar’buir._ ”

The control stick cracked in Jango’s hand, making Spar jump, and he made the executive decision to stop needling, for the sake of his health. Jango stared straight out the window for several seconds before speaking sharply. “Do you understand what this means for you, Spar? You can never go back.”

“How long do you really think the Kaminoans would keep me around, eh? Every day, I hear voices in my head, remember things that happened to you. I’m broken, and being perfect wasn’t even enough to protect 49, why should broken Alpha-02 with his poorly flashed head be spared the ‘corrections’ they so badly want to give me?” Spar asked, agitated.

“Sit down,” Said Jango quietly. “I’m still dropping you off where Mij told me to. But that’s it. You disappear. If you are ever noticed-”

“What, you’ll kill me?” Spar asked flippantly, though he could guess the answer.

“Yes,” Said Jango, as expected. “You wouldn’t be the first, either.”

Oh. Well that bit was unexpected. Spar sat in the copilot’s chair, looking at Jango quizzically. Jango turned to focus on bringing the ship out of hyperspace, apparently ignoring the Alpha clone. Spar looked out the window at the strange planet. He wondered if this was going to be his new homeworld, of it was just a waystation to somewhere else. Mij had said the people Spar was being sent to were mandalorians. Something familiar.

He glanced at Jango, who was stone faced, then back out the window. “I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.”

“You don’t?” Jango said through gritted teeth.

“I figured you didn’t care enough about any of us to feel betrayed.”

The ship jolted slightly and Spar gripped his seat, staring at Jango for a long moment, but the clone Progen didn’t say anything. Spar decided it was probably wise to keep his mouth completely shut as well.

Finally the ship landed. Jango turned to look at Spar. “Take that crate that had you in it and get out.”

Spar stood up and headed for the cargo hold. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Jango…”

Jango didn’t look around again, looking at his console. Spar sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Thank you.”

“K’oyacyi,” Jango replied, barely heard. Spar nodded, sliding back down to the cargo bay. _Stay Alive._

He could do that.

\---

Gilamar hadn’t had time to react before Jango’s fist met his face. If Jango had intended to beat the man to death, it likely would’ve gone very bad for the medic. As it was, Jango waited for Mij to recover from that initial blow before stomping on the doctor’s armored chest.

“Never. _Ever_. Use me like that again,” He snarled. Gilamar raised his hands defensively, eyes wide.

“Jango you-”

“Understand?”

Gilamar closed his eyes and grimaced, not answering.

“I asked if you understood, Gilamar,” Jango spat. Mij opened his eyes again and looked at Jango like he was seeing him for the first time.

“You killed him,” He stated. Not a question. “Damn you Fett, I promised him he’d be safe.”

“Spar’s alive and living with your damned brother in law just like you intended,” Jango growled. Mij let out a long sigh of relief. “But you used me, Gilamar. How am I supposed to trust you?”

“Fuck you!” Swore Gilamar, squirming for freedom. “He wanted more than what we gave him, Jango. I’d think that you of all people would understand!”

“This is a Job, Mij, you can’t go changing parameters!”

“Yeah, well I hate to tell you this Jango, but this job is training men into disposable chattels. Forgive me for having some moral objections,” Gilamar rolled to his feet the instant Jango’s foot lifted. “I’ve been at your side for nine years now, watching them all grow up. Your Alphas are about ready for the stasis tank. Spar was the only one to think that maybe he didn’t want this. I offered him a way out. He tried asking others to go with him. None did.”

“Good,” Said Jango grimly.

“Good?” Gilamar laughed, without humor. “Do you really think it’s because they actively chose it, or because they don’t think there’s any other option?”

Jango didn’t answer.

 

He couldn’t… wouldn’t… _couldn’t_ explain when 17 came up to him, telling him that no one had seen Spar in days. He’d gruffy promised to look into it, and wasn’t too surprised to find that Gilamar had doctored files to indicate that Spar had died.

Brain Aneurysm, according to Mij’s report. Jango had handed the datapad wordlessly to 17, and watched the young man’s expression as he’d read it. Finally 17 looked up at Jango.

“You don’t believe this… do you?”

“Would Mij ever hurt Spar? Or any of you?” Jango said emotionlessly. 17 glanced back down at the datapad, and Jango saw his eyes darken, locking away some private thoughts.

“He wouldn’t. But this isn’t what happened.”

“It’s what there is,” Said Jango, still perfectly neutral, trying to hide the anger he still felt at Mij’s betrayl. 17 looked him over silently for a few moments, then nodded, handing back the datapad.

“Thank you for looking, sir,” and then he turned on his heel and left Jango in silence.

\---

 

“I don’t want to do this,” Murmured Alpha-88 quietly, almost to himself. Beside him, 89 nodded quietly as they looked over the rows of glass tanks.

“Not our call though… or Jango’s…”

“Yeah.” 88 glanced down the line to where Nil and 01 were already being sedated in their stasis tanks. Nil was flailing a little against the heavy liquid within, the process clearly uncomfortable. “But they could… do so much to us, and we’ll be helpless. What about 99? We won’t be awake to protect him, or the CC cadets were were helping train…”

“I’m sure the cadets’ll be okay,” Said 89 tonelessly, watching as 03 and 04 were next. No 02. He’d been gone for three months now, and the Kaminoans called what happened to him ‘regrettable’. All the Alphas were very sure there’s been no aneurysm, but Jango became angry whenever Spar was brought up… so they kept their mutterings amongst themselves. “They’re almost big enough for the stasis tanks too. As for 99… well, Jango promised.”

“Jango’s word is worth as much as he wants it to be,” muttered 88.

“Yeah, but 99 knows that too. Besides, he’s very good at… being forgotten when he wants to be.”

“Shut up,” Muttered 87 at 88’s left. “Don’t talk about _that_ where _they_ might here.”

“Right,” Said 89. Their turn came all too soon, and 88 sighed, stripping down and stepping into the stasis tube, looking at the trainee medic who came to set the breather mask over his face.

The tube filled with liquid and he squirmed in discomfort at the cold, tasting the air being pumped to him change. He didn’t like this, he wanted out, he wanted to be _free_ …

Everything began to blur, and behind his eyelids… bright lights seemed to flicker. Muffled rumbling made him thrash, but then, even that went away, and there was nothing but silence and dark.

\---

Waking from stasis was the opposite of fun. Alpha-17 stumbled as soon as he was free of the tube and nearly took out a regular CT who was apparently supposed to be helping him. He growled at the kid instead, and toweled himself off. The armor presented to him was unexpected; Kama and Pauldron yes, but it was painted with blue stripes. He looked it over quizzically.

“This signifies your rank, Commander,” a Kaminoan had explained to him. “You will be given your orders at 0800 Coruscant standard time.”

“So… war’s started,” He said to himself, looking at his helmet thoughtfully. “About time.”

Once dressed, he was sent out to find some food and orientate himself during the surprisingly generous amount of time he had. Kamino had changed in… whatever length of days or months it’d been since he and his batchers had been put under. He wondered how many of his batch were still in stasis, how many in the field… how many dead already. Would be very kaminoan if all those older than he had already died off and now it was his turn on the field.

He sighed, noticing some troopers watching him with mixed shock and awe and wondered. A natborn of some caliber walked by, glancing at him curiously and he returned their gaze. Not one of the Cuy’val Dar. Most likely not a Jedi. Who was this? Well, it was unlikely he’d get an answer. He found the mess hall and collected some rations for himself before finding a corner to sit and eat in, where he could observe everyone.

Someone edged into his peripheral vision and he turned his head curiously to look. 99. He smiled despite himself and set his fork down. “You’re still here? That’s good.”

99 beamed at him. “I-I am. How are you?”

“Alright. So, how long’s it been? What have I missed.”

99 let out a long gust of air. “H-how long do you have?”

“Eh… couple hours.”

“Oh good… well then…” 99 carefully sat on the bench. A-17 looked him over. 99’s back had hunched further, and he was horribly skinny, but he seemed… content, anyway. “Well, about two months ago, a Jedi showed up, and then-”

Alpha-17 listened as 99 told him the tale of the Jedi who’d toured Kamino, met Jango. Rumor had it that there’d been a fight, but whatever the truth, Jango and the Jedi had both departed for Geonosis. Then, another Jedi had come and taken a cruiser’s worth of troops and armament to war. Many had been wiped out, but the war had begun.

“There’s… there’s something else,” 99 said hesitantly. “J-Jango he… he was apparently acting as Count Dooku’s bodyguard on Geonosis.”

“The Separatist Leader, are you sure?” 17 asked. 99 nodded.

“When the Jedi got there, Jango went and fought them and he…” 99 looked down. “One of them killed him.”

 _Impossible_. “Jango’s dead?”

Said 99 quietly. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but it happened. Boba vanished into thin air after it.”

“But you’re sure Jango’s dead? Not faking it… not..”

“M-Most of the Mandalorians who trained us are gone now,” Said 99. “Jango’s sister, Gilamar, Bralor. V-Vau’s still here sometimes, but he’s angry. The Jedi brought in their own instructors, some of their own, or mercenaries.”

“What the hell,” 17 muttered to himself. “Strange.”

“Yeah… but… yeah…”

“What about the rest of the Alphas, am I the only one out of stasis?”

99 shook his head. “Blitz Colt and Havoc g-got that strike force that Jango said they’d be good to lead. Fordo has Stec and Nice as captains in his own special unit now. They decided to pair you with a Jedi, and Muzzle… I think they’re gonna assign him to a special tactics group. Nil and 49 had a mission together then went back into stasis, I don’t think they found out about Jango though.”

“Hm,” 17 considered slowly. “How did Jango die, just out of curiosity?”

“Beheaded by one of the Jedi council,” Said 99 softly, not quite sad, but not happy, either.

Alpha-17 considered that, thinking back on the man who’d been teacher, sometimes-protector. He had raised them, taught them to fight, honed them into instruments of war. At his knee they’d learned the Mandalorian tenets, they’d learned to be fierce and proud. They’d been shaped into living weapons of war.

He had shielded them from harm at times, but never as a father or caring figure. They had been a duty to him, and nothing more. Never a gentle word, a parental touch. Always at arm’s length did he hold the Alphas, these boys he trained up in to killers.

Jango was dead. _Not gone, merely marching far away..._ Alpha-17 snorted disdainfully.

“Good riddance.”


End file.
